


Aftermath

by abigailwarren74



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Pain, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Everything, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:23:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigailwarren74/pseuds/abigailwarren74
Summary: Carol AU. Excerpt: Carol and I locked eyes and I grew lost in them once again. An appalling silence I never knew could exist flooded my ears. Carol looked at me differently from anyone else. And I certainly had never been as consumed in a gaze as hers. For it is preposterous– to feel that you know someone, yet you meet them again, and again, in different times, different places, different circumstances; again and again, as though meeting them for the first time all over. A story about loss and the lies that inevitably follow.





	1. Eight Windowed Brownstone

**Author's Note:**

> [Disclaimer] All of the chapters to this work are fictional and are in no way a part of Patricia Highsmith's novel. The characters I have used, unless otherwise stated, have come from her novel. Thank you, Todd Haynes and the creators of Carol, for the revolutionary film. Suitable warnings may not be in place. To be read at reader's own discretion.

_ There is this thing, I must say, about the time I grew up in. It was different, in a bad way, I think. Sometimes, I can't seem to even get my muddled head around it. I forget things, more often than not, but not this. Never this.  _

 

"The place stood regal, like a piece of time that stopped ticking. The waves of laughter, children's smiles floated around waiting to be devoured by the fog that lurked around the yard. If you went too far, it was said that the dangers beyond the fences would eat your voice-" 

 

"Miss Belivet," the headmistress hung her around the classroom, "What exactly is it you are reading to the children?" 

 

" _ The Hallows of Hor _ -" 

 

"Okay, that's enough for today. Miss Belivet can I please see you outside for a minute?" the cat-eyed woman tilted her head in the direction of the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar. The children chuckled slightly at my side eye glances to where the headmistress once stood. 

 

Slowly, but not without anticipation, I walked towards my judging.

 

Almost immediately, the torrent of raging accusations came raining down on me. "Miss Belivet, how many times do I have to tell you not to read the stories from that book! It should be banned by now seeing as the number of complaints of night terrors are on the increase. The children are only seven. Ideas about what lurks under their bed should not be put into their heads! Much less by their teacher."  

 

"Then get it  _ banned _ , Mrs. Libovski. But where I grew up-" 

 

"You grew up in an orphanage, Belivet. This is an upper middle-class neighborhood and there are no monsters underneath any beds,  only checks to be filed and paid at the end of each term which, may I remind you, pays for our meals." 

 

I knew that if I said a word more, my ass and I would be fired the hell out of here. My mouth shut itself but my brain burred on with an onslaught of insults. I felt hurt, that she brought up about the time where I had a dead father and a mother I did not like but I don't blame her from pressing where it hurts. 

 

I bit onto my lower lip, and without another word, went into the classroom to deliver the bad news. 

 

"Children, looks like Mrs. Libovski thinks that is enough for today," my words lined with slight sadness.

 

The entire class whined for more but I turned my back against them and started writing grammatical rules on the board. By the time I was done, two boys in the corner had folded an airplane and the girls were already busy talking amongst themselves. 

 

My mouth opened with words-

 

"RING!" the school bell went off endlessly.

 

The class stood up, sounds of chairs screeching overlapped one another and a vaguely chorused, "Thank you Miss Belivet," amongst all other noises signified the end of another school day. 

 

This was what I loved about teaching. That, and also that I got weekends off.

 

###

 

December. It was like any other month, except colder, and much more noisier. New York was noisy all year around but the festivities, oh, they brought too much joy around. Enough to burst an eardrum or two. 

 

The children were out in the yard of our old-timey school, chattering about the parade, "Miss Belivet, will you be joining the parade this year?" one of the girls from my 6th grade Literature class called out just as I was about to walk through the gates. 

 

"I'm afraid not, Patricia," I told her. She furrowed her brows for an explanation but there were none to please her. "I'll be in it this year, though!" she looked with pleading eyes. I took a couple of steps back towards where she was standing. 

 

"Tell me it passes through this part of town?" I tried.

 

"It will! And it goes around to Park Avenue and to Madison Square!" 

 

"Then, I'll be waving from my window," I smiled at her, "Look out for me!" 

 

"Really? You'll be there?" 

 

"Anything for my star student," I praised, sweeping her blonde hair in the direction against the wind. "Proud of you in advance!" I shouted as I walked away, earning small peals of laughter from the girls. 

 

My smile disappeared the minute no more children were in sight. I don't hate children. It is just tiring to smile  _ all day _ . For an afternoon, the sky was too dusky, appearing to be more of an evening instead. The children I had been trying so hard to avoid after work were yet again in sight so I pulled my hat tighter over my head and wrapped my scarf higher over my neck, leaving the partial view of my face in hopes they would not recognize me. 

 

As I walked future, the noise for all the festivities died down quite a bit. There was a man, a beggar, the one I always saw sitting near one of the fences at the end of the road. As I approached, it became clear to me that he had been there for days. The chill in the air reached down into his bones and strangled him. The uneaten sandwich in my bag wanted to jump out to offer itself to him but I couldn't make up my mind in time as I passed him so instead, my feet marched on like a wind-up toy.

 

Against the backdrop of the impending parade, he shriveled up even more into the darkness. There was no place here for him. The world was unfair that way. 

 

Whilst feeling guilty about what I had done, or not done, I looked back. A woman was walking right behind me. Her gray eyes caught mine and I knew in an instant that she saw what I did, walking right past a man who needed help. 

 

She was wearing a fur coat over her tailored red suit. I became painfully aware of the air of melancholy surrounding her, as if someone just died.  _ Who was that? And who died? _

 

She saw him, just as I did and yet, she bent down and offered him a small amount of change into the crooked hat. 

 

I quickly turned back around and hastened my steps, brisk walking around the corner, almost breaking into a run as I disappeared up the spiraling stairs that lead to my apartment on the fourth floor. She was coming, closer and closer. And my heart was thumper harder with each beat. I wasn't thinking as the door locked itself. 

 

_ Click. _ Once.  _ Click. _ Twice. 

 

With my back against the door, I took a large breath to fill my lungs. Lunging forward to pull all the curtains to my two windows shut. 

 

I felt the lady's presence loom over me and I made a risky move to peer outside. She was there indeed, but not waiting for me. Her fur coat was floating in the wind and even from way up here, I could tell that her hands were trembling as she opened the door to the grand brownstone and just as I did, disappeared through those doors. 

 

###

 

Hours later, the knock on my door was louder than the procession on going on our street, shocking me into hitting my head against the window sill from where I had my head stuck out. I looked at the door until a knock interrupted me again and wiped my the cookie crumbs off my fingers on my skirt. 

 

"Terry! It's Richard, open the door you slowpoke," he yelled through as I yanked the main door open, letting him fall into the room.

 

"Stop disturbing me Richard, I'm trying to watch the Christmas parade," I yelled back, looking through the window again. 

 

I could feel him staring at me weirdly, knowing I was never one to enjoy the parade. 

 

The truth was that the silhouette of the woman across the street against her window was much more intriguing. As I squinted my eyes, I could tell that she was with another woman against the bay window but her face was occluded by the glint in the window. They were sitting in deep conversation. Just as I was about to be whisked away into their world-

 

"Terry! Have you been listening to a word I'm saying?

 

"I'm taking a trip  _ home _ ," I said, almost emulating the melancholy in the woman I saw earlier. 

 

"No, you hate that place," Richard stated.

 

Nodding, "I do," I told him, "But... Yes... I'm going." 

 

He raised his eyebrows, urging me to continue. "Mrs. Libovski might or might not have mentioned _ the place _ today and I thought it would do me some good to see how things have changed since I left." 

 

"What did she say?"

 

I shrugged, not wanting to make a conversation out of it.

 

"Fine, Terry, don't tell me," he put his hands up, "But I know you, and you always have a change of mind last minute. So when you do, you know where to find me." 

 

"Yea," I answered half-heartedly, already turned back to the parade and the window across the street. I took my eyes off one minute to scan the end of the parad and saw Patricia lined up with a bunch of her friends.

 

"Hey! It's Miss Belivet!" one of them shrieked and a deluge of greetings forced their way into my ears over the parade's music and I smiled back, giving a small wave as they marched past my apartment. 

 

It was then when I looked back at the bay window that I saw the face of the lady's again. This time, she was looking right at me. She did not smile, nor attempt to break her internalizing gaze. My heart pounded wildly as I become startlingly aware of the great disorder she was causing my mind.  _ Who is she?  _

 

"Terry!" Richard snapped his fingers in front of me, causing me to take my eyes away from her, "Can I drink some of your beer?" 

 

"Take whatever you want, Richard," I muttered, attempting to not look away but a crashing sound inevitably caused me to swing my head in the direction of the noise. "Seriously?" I yelled in annoyance.

 

I leered one last time but the curtains were already drawn and the women were gone. I had so many questions for the mystery woman. She was very real; I could feel her existence coursing through each and every one of my veins. I counted the windows to her house. Eight of them. Two on the first, three on each floor above. I wondered who she lived with that she needed eight windows. "Who buys a house big enough to fit a farm?” I asked Richard. 

 

"What's that?" He yelled from the kitchen. I could hear him raiding my refrigerator from here.

 

"Nothing..." I mumbled under my breath before reaching for my black notebook.

 

_ 12.16.1954. An eight windowed brownstone. Each a window of opportunity to escape. The mysterious woman with hair the color of lemons. Who's there to stop her dangerous thoughts?  _


	2. Home Again

_"Therese. You cannot say that to your mother. She came all the way down here to see you,"  I heard her say with an edge of anger to her voice._

 

_Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth as I turned to meet the fury in her eyes. Instantly, my gaze dropped downwards, suddenly afraid. I’ve never been afraid of her but by then I’ve come to know that I learn something new about us every day. “Why? Why did you leave me here? Why did you- Why? Why did Papa have to die? I wish it were you instead." She was gone. Then I woke up._

 

"Terry! What's with you these days. Nothing I say goes through your head anymore," his deep voice sounded sonorous against my skull. "What?" I asked, hazily.

 

"I said, do you really have to go?" Richard was whining and being of no help as I lugged my suitcase down four flights of stairs.

 

"I told you last week that I was going!" I lamented.

 

He sighed, "Well, I didn't think you were going to go through with it!"

 

"Just because I am not sure about most things, doesn't give you an excuse to doubt me," I said through my teeth. His eyes went wide at the harshness of the words but otherwise did nothing else. "Besides, it's only a couple of weeks over the winter break. I'll be back before you know it. You won't miss me too much." I pursed my lips together as we waited for my ride. I glanced at the brownstone.

 

Richard traced my gaze towards the house, "Hey, someone bought the house."

 

"It's been a week since the lady moved in, keep up," I elbowed him.

 

"Someone's been paying attention..." he tilted his head, then chuckled lightly. "Whoever it is, must have a hell lot of spare change. No matter how hard I work, I'll never get to live in one."

 

"Yea..." I whispered, trying hard not to remember the incident with the man on the sidewalk, "She's mysterious."

 

"So you've seen her?" he pried lightly, already trying to catch a glimpse of her.

 

"No. That's why she's mysterious," I lied.

 

Richard scratched his head, "Then how would you have known it was a lady?"

 

I paused, begging my mind to think of a quickly cover up. "Oh… You know… Just-"

 

The taxi pulled over in front of us just in the nick of time to save me from any more torment. "I'll get that," he bent over to grab my suitcase, putting it into the trunk of the cab. "Have a good trip, Terry. We'll miss you over Christmas."

 

"I guess I'll have to miss you too," I waved him goodbye as the door shut.

 

###

 

The derelict train station was located right on the outskirts of the city of New York right where it belonged. The constant urbanization of New York seemed to have left it out by accident. It was so old, perhaps even older than the two great wars combined. Metallic shrieks echoed the plain brick walls all around. It felt that a blink too long would cause a part of metal to corrode away from the side of the train.

 

"To which, you are going, _Mademoiselle_?" The ticket boy asked.

 

"Train ticket to New Jersey please," I said.

 

“Fair ride, Madame, smoking or non-smoking? Either way 6 and a quarter.”

 

I rummaged through my wallet to find the spare change and gave him all the coins. “Non-smoking carriage,” I said as I poured the coins from my palms onto the counter. The weight of them irked me.

 

“Received money. Ticket for one to the posh New Jersey. Good trip ahead.” He winked.

 

I blushed and smiled back before heading towards my train in the third lane. The chatter amongst the passengers was loud in my head. I have never been able to shut off the sounds from this world. The hubbub pulsated and hundred thousand times before they left.

 

My seat wasn't all that dirty. I was reminded of my first train ride from New Jersey to New York, where everyone looked grim or about to cry. Departures were hard when people you've left behind come to send you off but they are harder when there is no one. I left New Jersey shaking with grief, not for the people I left, but for the life, I was about to leave behind.

 

Absolute loneliness came with me; _it was in me_. It was that little price tag hanging off of a brand new shirt you wore so proudly. For a time in my mid-teens, this loneliness paralyzed me. Now, I've come to embrace it.

 

The train creaked out of the station and I allowed my head to rest on the window as I slowly lulled myself into slumber.

 

_She was the roughest, toughest frail_

_But Minnie had a heart as big as a wh-ale_

 

###

 

"Ma'am… Ma'am?" My bleary eyes turned to face the train conductor who was shining a torchlight in my face. Instinctively, my hand crept up to shade myself from the intense light.

 

"What?" My voice still hoarse from not talking.

 

"We're at the last stop of this train's journey. If you don't get off, I'm going to have to see proof of a return ticket," he said, pointing to the ticket station located outside.

 

"No," I barely croaked, "This is my stop."

 

The answer seemed to please him and I was left in the dark alone as he sauntered off, ready with his torch of victory.

 

As I shook the numbness of drowse off myself, my mind wandered elsewhere into unchartered territory. There wasn't one clear route. "What am I doing here," I mumbled to myself, unsure if regret was already beginning to wash over me at this very moment. _Even the Sun's runaway_ , I thought.

 

The house wasn't a long walk from the station but with streets illuminated by a bare lamp once every fifty meters, the gravel road turned ominous and as the only shadow, I turned ghastly. The darkness was all around me. As my black shoes kicked against any stray rock I could only remember a line from Sister Alicia, "When the center can no longer hold, and the walls cave in, there is nowhere to look. You might as well be blind."

 

In this darkness, I was as good as blind. I was as good as blind.

 

After another 10 minutes, my feet finally landed on the familier cobblestone path leading up to the polished stone steps. Under the gloom lighting of the moon, it was hard to see the grandeur of it.

 

Made mostly of grey bricks, the navy blue peaks for roof stood out immediately. The house had a steep look to it with an even number of white french windows on each side, all shut tight by the looks of it. Afterall, it was a cold night and the children should not get cold. From where I stood, the yellow-orange light emanating from the second floor gave her away.

 

The sound of my knocking travelled upwards rapidly and into the ears of Sister Alicia.

 

I've always thought of the steps here as magical. They lead out into the future. Now as I return to a piece of my past I so badly do not want to confront, they are anything but; I would say that they lost their magic a wild ago– right at that exact moment when I chose to leave for New York.

 

The stream I could not see was whooshing and making water noises, tiny whirlpools Sister Alicia used to warn us about. The woman who lived across the river whom I knew solely through deeds, was part of the family who owned the house. It was mentioned once by Sister Alicia that we should be grateful to that family who took part of their land to build the house especially for children like us. I had only seen her once, a very long time ago. It was that same day I began to realize the voice in the wall and the rustle in the bushes– that menace was all around me.

 

It was two months after my mother had brought me to the orphanage. My father was dead and my mother… was in a tremendous amount of suffering. I was that reminder of her pain. Every single time she saw me, she saw how the country had failed my father, how they had failed us. Then, two years after the worst news, I was sent away because she could no longer afford to keep me. Because in her own, sick way of reasoning, she needed to move on. And she did.

 

The stream next to the house had not always been out of bounds. So there I was, trooping down near the stream with twelve other children, tallest to shortest. I was eight, the second youngest in the group. The winds were whipping my cargo shorts around my knees and I was bent on finding a spot on the grass by the edge of the slope to sit down. I was still upset over my mother having left me here but I wasn't in the mood to stay indoors either.

 

The truth was that we were all children who were too old to be adopted. Helena, fifteen, was the oldest at that time. I had heard that she had spent thirteen years here at the house. Bubbly as a child, with each passing year, as the chances of her getting adopted out dwindled out, grew more miserly. At fifteen, she stood near her full height 5'5 when I came in, skinny and a complete wimp, I became the perfect target of her torment.

 

The water was clear as the day and the rounded rock I threw into the soft stream was swallowed whole by the water, never to reemerge. It wasn't very deep at all, It was maybe up to my waist when I was younger but definitely would be more of a knee wade if I were to walk through it now. It was filled with rocks, many similar to the one I threw. The water jutted and parted wildly at places where the stones stuck above the stream bed, making it more terrifying than it really was.

 

While I was debating whether the stream would lead to a river and eventually the ocean, something hard hit me in my head, sending me into a dizzying state of panic. My eyes were slowly closing and I could physically see them fluttering in shock as tears began to cloud my vision. I began to lost control of everything and my balance failed me as I plopped into the water with a small splash. My nostrils flared in an effort to take in the air but instead, water flooded into my lungs. I couldn’t get up. I couldn't move. Everything fell into darkness afterward and only the heated pulsating in my skull remained.

 

I woke up to a terrible headache, and a bandage obscuring one of my eyes. I surveyed my surroundings, noticing that I was back in my room. The bed must've creaked with my motion and the lady turned around slowly, "You're awake." she stated, "I saw your lifeless body on the edge of the stream from my window," before turning back around to work on something. She looked preoccupied from here, too inaccessible. Perhaps she did not like children for I had never seen her before this. 

 

But I began to sniffle at my fate, breathing so bad the lady who brought me in whipped her head around and came to me at once. "Oh, no," I heard her mumbled, "Oh, no, no, no, Sisters?" she called out for help in a prominent lisp, "Hey, sweetie. No, no. No tears. You're okay now." she had my cheek cupped in her hands. I stopped for awhile, staring into brown eyes so kind. A sob overtook me. It was the kind that was desperate and hallow but lined with so much horror it could swallow the world whole. "It's all my fault," I tried to say between wails and heavy breaths. There was so much laced in those four words I didn't think she could understand. My faith had been robbed from me so early on, it was unfair. It was unfair I had to grow up when I wasn't ready. She squeezed me against her chest, "It is never a child's fault," she told me. I took in the warmth of her, feeling exceptionally safe in her arms. It didn't matter what she said after that because it was the first time someone had held me like that.

 

Apparently, I had been stoned once and almost to death by Helena.

 

The next morning, it was Sister Alicia beside me.

 

"Where's she?" I asked.

 

"She?" Sister Alicia asked lightly, then, as though she came to a conclusion in her head, "Oh, she. She's left. She's got a call from her job."

 

"What job?" I could feel my heart sink and clench tightly into itself. An acrid feeling flooded my jaw but still, I tried not to feel upset. I had been let down too many times.

 

"An entomologist. She collects bugs. How are you feeling today?"

 

"She didn't say goodbye," I smiled weakly, eyes wide as I tried to swallow that fact, "My head hurts less."

 

Sister Alicia smiled. Her teeth weren't the straightest or the whitest. "That's good. I might take you out for some sun later in the afternoon. It is only nine. More sleep will do you good. I can wake you up later if you want to rest more."

 

"I'm better," I said, trying to convince myself.

 

"That's good," she replied again.

 

_Silence._

 

I watched Sister Alicia's small movements. She looked slightly out of place. After a couple of small controlled breaths, she took a big one, "Yes, I almost forgot. She left you this," there was a letter by the bedside I hadn't even noticed.

 

"Go ahead and read it," she passed it to me, "I'll come back to bring you lunch, then we can go out for some sun."

 

"Yes," I said. I played with the letter in my hands, wondering what words she would use. Would they be too difficult for me to understand? What if I didn't understand anything she wrote? I opened up the letter. It wasn't glued down.

 

As I read it, my eyes suddenly couldn't contain tears anymore. "Yes," I whispered to myself again at the end. The letter was shorter than I wanted it to be but I believed every single word she put in there maybe because I was too young, or perhaps just too desperate for something to cling onto. Till today, some parts of me wishes she could've brought me away. If only… fate brought us in directions we desired. When would I be finally worthy?

 

The door opened with a big swing and creak in front of me. "Sister Alicia," I greeted, taking her in. She had shrunk dramatically, although it had only been 4 years since I last saw her. She smiled, with her unstraight, unwhite teeth. But I endeared her so much.

 

As I entered through the large doors, I turned to look at the house across the river. There was a single light shining from the attic. I tried to feel nothing.

 

_04.13.1939 Take me someplace far. [Attached] Therese. Unfortunately my job called and I had to leave. I've tasked the Sisters to take extra good care of you, my young one. You remind me very much of a childhood friend. She was once scrawny like you and I almost pushed her down that very same stream. The look on her face when she dirtied her new birthday dress! She's grown taller now. Taller than me, in fact. You will too, as time passes. Time will pass. And one day, there'll be nothing left but a small scar, and if you're lucky, there'll be none at all. There'll come a day where you will forgive yourself of all the bad things that happened. Don't worry about the girl that stoned you. She has been moved elsewhere. I have sent over some better fitted clothes. Meanwhile, will you keep yourself safe for me?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who lives across the river?


	3. Woes Be Gone

_ “If you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you - you will know that there comes, in the end, a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.” – The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. But things always happen. Things will always happen, even if you've depleted your tears entirely, because they will not stop until they are content.  _

 

The frigidity of the night pierced through me. The heating system in the house was malfunctioning, according to Sister Alicia and they could only manage to direct the heating to the bare minimum rooms for the children who huddled four in a room that night. As she bowed her head in explanation, I told her that it was alright my room didn't get the heating. 

 

You see, I was never too afraid of the cold. 

 

As we walked, Sister Alicia continued to talk. Children in enrollment had fallen since I was here. By the time I had left, there were only twenty-six of us left. Now, the numbers have dwindled down to exactly fifteen. 

 

"They won't force you to close down," I whispered as we passed the rows of upstairs bedrooms, "Not when you still have children enrolling." 

 

"Therese, don't you see? One day, there will be no children left to enrol." 

 

I stopped walking. "Then it's time, Sister Alicia. You should be resting now. Not chasing children around the house like madness just struck twelve. It's time you dedicated the rest of your life to serving God." 

 

She coughed softly, an old cough, "Therese, you've always been my favorite for that reason." 

 

"What?" I wondered.

 

"Beyond your years. You've turned into a fine young lady."

 

"Are you sure your aged eyes can still see me in this darkness?" I gestured around, only small dim lights brightened the long hallway. 

 

She squeezed me playfully in the arm, "All in good time." Then, with her stick-thin fingers, pointed me to the room all the way at the end, "You can have your old room back, Therese. I'll see you in the morning."

 

"Thank you, Sister," I held onto her forearm, "for this, and everything." 

 

"I have missed you so very dearly," she confided, pulling away from my arm slowly. I watched her back as she became smaller and smaller, until she faded away into the stairwell. 

 

###

 

I sat on my bed by the open window, looking at the moon that was high in the sky. I was sure it was going to start snowing tonight for there was a glow in the sky that looked so familiar.

 

The winds were not letting up and trees swung feverishly, begging badly for release from the cold. They had shed all their leaves and there was nothing more they could lose.  I was thinking about the old times of being here during those last few months before the graduation, contemplating my life if I left. What would happen to me? Here I am safe, within these four walls. Sure, I had one of those guardian angels, but even early on I knew that it was Sister Alicia who truly protected me. I thought, who would protect me out there? Away from this place; away from Sister Alicia. Then I left for New York, anyway. Met Richard, got licensed to teach, received a job, bought an apartment and life alone turned out not to be so bad after all. 

 

My heart was perhaps drumming hard in my ears when I first heard cries through the walls. Fear was the first thing I felt. Could it be a ghost of the past coming to haunt me? I hid under the security of my blanket immediately. The crying did not stop. Instead, it grew more choked, more desperate. It sounded like someone was struggling from the air between each cry. I grew curious and jumped out of bed to take softly padded steps across the room. As I pressed my ear against the false wall, I realized it was coming from the room opposite. The room used to be Helena's. The child in the room must be frightened.

 

The sobbing was quiet as if she was trying to hide it. The door creaked, like Sister Alicia’s ancient bones. I peered into it carefully, but in the black smock of night, I could barely make out the outline of her under the covers of her bed. 

 

“Hey,” I opened the door wider and allowed myself in, “Are you okay?”

 

The crying ceased and the night became still again. 

 

“You don’t need to be afraid. I… I know how it feels to be afraid. I… uh… I- I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.” She shook with a tremendous amount of vulnerability. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. I just… I thought I was good at this. I'm not and I'm sorry," I whispered, referring to my own lack of experience consoling someone. I tried to remember the exact words Sister Alicia would use when I cried, or even the woman.

 

I pressed my back against the chilled door and my lips were beginning to quiver all of a sudden but as I was right on the verge of throwing myself off a cliff, it all came to me, "This… This must be a complete mess right now. All hell's broken loose. Your life, your family, it must've all completely fallen apart and I- I wish I could understand this, but I don't. In fact, I know nothing at all, but this- this um, this… nothing's going to make you feel better until you want to feel better. That's what happened to me. When time's come and gone, it'll make it easier. I needed someone to remind me that time will pass. She said it would, slowly, but it would. And one day, there'll be nothing left but a small scar, and if you're lucky, there'll be none at all. We'll forget. We always do." 

 

My body felt powerless, for there was no magic in my words to stop her tears. 

 

"I… Uh, I'm still hurting. I don't know when this is going to end, and I want to, I want it to end so badly," I breathed.

 

I was shaking from the deepest, most profound part of me. I looked out of the window at the shape of the trees. Wind speeds were picking up for the unforgiving Winter does not abdicate. It fires on. My back slid against the wall and I landed with a soft thump on the floor, "Cry," I whispered, "I'm right here so you're not alone because… Because that was what I really needed on my first night." 

 

###

 

The morning was painted faintly gray from the fog passing through. Chatters were already beginning in the form of tiny conversations from other rooms, and perhaps also from the Sisters who would go room to room to wake the children up. 

 

I found myself under the cover of a large hand sewn quilt. I put it to my nose and noticed the distinct scent of dusky wood perfume. 

 

The room looked like it had not been lived in for years as there were layers of dust all over on surfaces that have yet to be cleaned. Although vague, I promptly blushed at the recalling of last night events and immediately turned to look for the girl on the bed. She was gone, perhaps from the embarrassment too. Slowly, I got up onto my knees and knelt, studying the entire room closely. 

 

There was a suitcase, popped wide as an alligator's mouth to a corner of the room. The outfits didn't seem like what a girl of my time would wear. They were blouses and formal dresses, ceremonial hats. I began to doubt if last night ever happened at all. Perfume and beauty powder was strewn on the small bedside table, all providing confirmation to what I least expected. As I turned and turned, the room became dizzyingly clear to me that it belonged to a woman. 

 

Though, there was a single object that misplaced my theory. 

 

A train set, the centerpiece of the room. If I had walked any further in last night, I would've tripped and made a fool out of myself. I crawled closer to inspect the last puzzling piece of information. 

 

If I pulled a black lever at a ninety-degree angle, the train would start roaring and chugging around the round track. The faux landscape grass still sat in the bag in the middle. It was very plain, very new. But the train carriages had tiny scratches on them from a child's careless fingers. I picked up the moving train and flipped it over, it's wheels still moving under it as though it were trying to get away from me.

 

I pulled the red lever that brought a peaceful cease to all movement.

 

The room was suddenly quiet, all things still. It was so quiet I could hear myself blink.

 

"Who's your owner?" I asked more to myself than the train set. Then, chuckled and blushed slightly at my insanity. Was this what gets with returning home? I got up and walked to the window, carriage still in the palm of my hand. I squinted and to my surprise, the sky was filled with tiny feather like drops. I guess the weather wasn't as cold as it seemed. 

 

My fingers ran all over the toy as though searching for a hint in them. I thought about my mother and the single doll she had bought for me along the route here. It was that dainty, dainty little store I was never allowed into. But with feverish tears glazed over her eyes, she told me that the day was a very special one. The doll; though I loved it much, was that reminder that I wasn't worth it. It pained me, yet relieved me every day, over and over, over and over, until I was on the verge of losing myself. I prayed for her to come to fetch me, yet at the very same time, silently whispered for myself to forget her. 

 

Sometimes, I wished her d-

 

"Put that down," a deeply protective voice shook my soul out of me. 

 

I spun around with the force of a wind. I saw her clearly now. It felt odd to look at her like that. Her eyes were narrow like she had a squint but long, encasing rapture blue irises between them. Even from the distance apart, she loomed over me like a dark cloud hiding flashes of lightning. She looked very different from the woman I had caught glimpses of in those eight windows. She was puffy around the eyes and her hand gripped tightly onto a damp handkerchief that complimented her muted brown dress. 

 

But as we locked eyes fervently, I thought I saw her hard eyes soften and her mouth gaped slightly. She must've been thinking of what to say and when she did, I was surprised again, of her heavy voice, her sentences laced with careful, well thought through pauses, "I… We think- We often think, we want to forget things. But we don't. We hold onto the things that hurt because they were once things that made us happy." She looked away, giving me some space to breathe. I realized she must've been saying this in response to my words last night.

 

Her attention diverted to the train carriage in my hand, in some deep thought that I wasn't sure was directed at me, she murmured, "We don't ever let go, fully. We never will." 

 

I looked at her eyes, her lips and her cheekbones, and jaw and everything else. The way she looked at me whilst keeping her chin cast slightly down had a sort of breathtaking vulnerability to it.

 

"Who's died?" I boldly asked, staring straight at her. Her eyes suddenly looked impenetrable and the brief openness was gone.  

 

She leered right back at me.

 

_ 12.19.1954 Her grays eyes have found me. She can look me inside and out, as though I am naked before her eyes. But I see through her, too. She is telling me through her eyes that the world is too big, too painful. Things she wants to remember are too cruel, two folds of all the bad things one can ever imagine. All things I told her to let go; she couldn't. Not now, not ever.  _  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, this is the third chapter so far and Carol's finally appeared! Feel free to let me know in the comments about how it's going. I love reading your comments. Big thanks to those who leave them!


	4. I Shall Not Remember

_ How can I talk so openly about something I can barely remember? The pain was meant for me to endure alone. How can I be so selfish? When did I become so selfish? But it is too much, it is too much. I cannot forget because I tell myself to do just that. Because when you are constantly telling yourself to forget something, your mind has weird ways of working. And you will remember it.  _

 

Her body was stiff as a log, yet her features were soft and her cheeks sagged with the weight of something other than age. 

 

"No," her single syllabled answer strained her vocal chords. Her eyes fluttered, open, close, open, close. They batted in slow motion before me.

 

For sure, there had been someone who died but how could I ask again? Was I ready to make her lose more tears over a seemingly innocent question? Her clipped reply made me rethink my unanswered questions and even under the broad daylight that shined right through the blue, her eyes were unyielding. Although I was sure of her distinct thoughts a moment ago, they seemed blurry now– but I noticed that she was barely keeping herself together. 

 

"Sorry," I turned away quietly, face burning from the humiliation. A heavy feeling in my chest settled. Of what? I did not know. 

 

"It's fine," she tried casually and her walls seemed to have been put down again, but I knew her enigmatic fortress was still unwavering. She took a deep breath and pursed her red lips together. Then in a smooth line, directed the conversation toward me, "You're wildly apologetic, you know that?"

 

My heart raced. "I'm sor- Sorry. I just can't stop saying it." 

 

"Hmm," she hummed as her hand brushed against mine, sweeping the toy away from my palm, "Carol– Carol Aird," she introduced, reaching out her other hand to give a firm shake. I wiped my sweaty palms against my checkered skirt.

 

"Therese, Belivet, it's nice to meet you, Mrs. Aird," I beamed like a schoolgirl, finally having a name to put on the woman. I had barely known her but knew in that instant that she,  _ Carol, _ was going to be that bright secret I could not keep. 

 

"It's  _ Carol _ , please. Though my ex-husband would have definitely have liked you to call me by his name," she mumbled the latter part as she walked away, "So,  _ Therese _ , what do you work as?" 

 

"I'm a teacher. English Literature, mostly. I cover for lower math classes sometimes but I'm more of a substitute teacher for that. Though, sometimes I do science classes too. But I've never been really..." I trailed off, watching her pace around the room impatiently. I got a sense that she wasn't as interested as she led on.

 

"Well, then. You must have a lot of books to recommend, don't you?" Carol looked at me wryly with a tilted head, looking me down from my shoes and worked back up to my eyes again in a split second.

 

I nodded, "I suppose I do." 

 

"So, you do." There was an uncanny curve to her lips when she asked, "Your gaze–" she paused for an awfully odd amount of time.

 

"What?" 

 

"It is just... rather intense, isn't it? It feels that… That I possibly know you from somewhere. Do I?" Carol furrowed her brows ever so slightly and waited as I began to falter, all words failing me. In a make-believe effort to help, she continued matter-of-factly, "You're the girl from the window." 

 

"Yes," was the only answer I could conjure in the presence of her.

 

"Mmm," she mumbled cocking an eyebrow in victory but her mind must've wandered elsewhere.

 

I looked away at the wall when she broke eye contact. By the way Carol examined the room, it looked like she was reading my whole life story up until now on the pathetic wallpaper. She was slowly walking farther and farther away. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to keep up. " _ Therese _ , is it?" she feigned uncertainty, I cringed. She smiled, the first time since I caught her by the sidewalk. "Are you afraid of me?" 

 

"Yes," I gulped, "I mean, I might be. You remind me of the headmistress in my school." 

 

"Who?" her eyes swept across the toy in her hand and then back at me.

 

"Mrs. Libovski," I tried to hold a giggle when I saw her face register with shock and horror. 

 

Her fingers pulled through her hair and she pursed her red lips into a curl, "A Russian, you can't be serious at all. A Russian?" I registered the way her golden blonde hair fell as she threw her head back in a cackle, "A  _ Russian _ ?" she asked for the third time, eyes sly as a fox, "Your 'boss'  sounds like one  _ hell _ of a woman." 

 

"She  _ is  _ Russian, she doesn't know what jokes are. But you do. I take it back." I added abruptly. 

 

"Well, isn't that such a shame, then," Carol winked at me. 

 

She glided down to her knees, gracefully putting the train back to where it belonged. Her fingers lingered along the tracks just ever so slightly, then she withdrew them quickly as if they had scorched her. Carol looked back at me as if I had noticed nothing. She put her curled hair behind her ear and put her hand against the hardwood floor, leaning her weight over the train tracks.

 

The silence we felt was pleasant. 

 

"That's a beautiful watch," she complimented after two beats, the tip of her index pointing right at the hexagonal antique on my wrist. 

 

"It was my father's," I confessed, sweeping my thumb across the watch face. I could feel each tick and tock vibrating deep in my bones. It was- "Ten o'clock," I muttered all of a sudden, breaking my entire train of thoughts. I looked wide-eyed at Carol who looked perplexed.

 

"Go," she nudged, "You have something on, don't you? Don't let me hold you back." 

 

"Yes… I have to," I was almost reluctant to go, "It was- This was nice, Carol. Will you still be here? When I'm done with the class." 

 

"Of course," she said, "I'm here all week." 

 

I then remembered that I did not know the reason why but I was already so terribly late for the lesson. I would just have to wait till after to ask her that. 

 

###

 

Boredom was about to strike me down right in front of the class. I was shocked at the revelation. I had never felt like this before, like I had something to look forward too. Time usually passed with equal seconds but now, each breath felt long and unevenly drawn out. I tapped on my watch.

 

Sister Alicia and Sister Gertrude had joined me in the class. 

 

"Girls, can we please thank Miss Belivet for taking the time from her holidays to come all the way down here to impart some knowledge?" 

 

I chuckled lightly at the last phrase and my face grew a tint redder.

 

"Hello," I gave a quick wave, "I can see a few familiar faces in my class today." I smiled at the memories some girls brought me. They must've been so young when I had left but they still were so young now. There were ten of them in total, all under the age of seven. "Hi Frances," I acknowledged before continuing. "As some of you might know, I was actually from this house, a long time-" 

 

"How long?" one girl raised her hand.

 

I paused in thought, "It's been… About three years ago. I live in New York right now and I-" 

 

A wave of chatters passed the class often and I waited until they stopped to continue. "Is New York beautiful??" A five-year-old asked so loudly, I had to put my hand to the side of my ear facing her. The rest of the class erupted in laughter.

 

"Of course it is, now. Why the sudden-" 

 

"Will you take me?" she asked with equal loudness and a ton of eagerness. She was adorable. Reminded me of the exact opposite of who I was as a child. I was small, shy, almost mute. But this girl, she had blonde unruly curls cascading down her uniform and a big toothless smile, a loud personality I never truly liked but she was just so charming.

 

I smiled at her innocence, "Well..." 

 

"Lucy, please use your inside voice," Sister Alicia croaked, giving me a smile for me to continue.

 

"I'm sure Sister Gertrude has taught you all about sentence structures and grammar? And all the other _ boring _ things?" I said playfully, throwing a glance at both Sisters. Nods of agreement and small giggles were exchanged throughout the small classroom. "So, now that you've learnt all about how English works, you'll need something to practice those skills on. Here's where the interesting part comes in." 

 

"Now, Lucy, can you give me an example of a book?" I gestured for her to come towards me and allowed her to jump onto my lap.

 

"Ummmm," she wondered, tapping her tiny fingers onto her chin, "THE BIBLE!" 

 

"Mmhmm, that's right, Lucy. The Bible," feeling ashamed that I hadn't thought of that. I bent down into the book bag next to me. "And do you like the Bible, Lucy?" 

 

"Yes!" She exclaimed into my ear.

 

I laughed aloud, "Sister Alicia must be very proud of you, Lu." I turned in the direction of where Sister Alicia was seated prior but in her place was air. I scanned around quickly and found her by the door, talking to someone behind the door. As the person bent forward to, I caught a glimpse of short blonde locks. It was Carol, that Sister Alicia was talking to.

 

My mind could concentrate no longer. 

 

"Class, we're just going to-" 

 

Carol popped her head in looking bemused. One of her foot was already in the classroom, as though she was about to sit in on my class. "Go on," she mouthed at me. 

 

I took a deep breath, "I was actually about to ask if everyone can just form one line in front of me to receive a very special gift from some students I have in the town, okay?" 

 

The mood in the class elevated beyond any level possible. It was a school tradition for all children below age eight to receive a book annually, in time for a Christmas Miracle. It was important because children like us never really had anything to put our names on. In my whole nine years there, I had only received two books officially but Sister Alicia always made sure the spares made their way into my room every Christmas. But all good things come to an end, perhaps because all the books were given away, the tradition stopped when I turned fourteen. 

 

All the books I had, about ten of them in total came from a girl, I could tell by the handwriting in the book. 

 

The child must've been young and unaware. I laughed for the first time in days when I first saw her take on the iconic line. I checked each book after the first, desperate to know if it was hers. I knew they each belonged to the same girl because on every single one of them, a single iconic line, someone had penned down in high-quality ink that did not smudge:  _ CeaSe the day.  _ There was this unspoken bond between the both of us. The irony that I really wanted to  _ cease _ the day at that point. 

 

On one book in particular, maybe it was the third or fifth book I had received, a book she must've cherished very much, she wrote again, in fine ink: If found, please return to  _ 18 Frick Drive, Alpine, New Jersey or dial ALpine, 8394 (25-8394). _

 

That hot summer night must've been so different, yet it felt the same as all the other children flooded into our rooms for the night. I was still up, feet crossed on my bed as I waited still, like an owl in the dead of darkness. Time was waiting for me, I could feel it, as apprehensive as the hundred and eighty-two steps that took me to the phone in head Sister's office. 

 

_ Why did I need to do this? _ Why did I need to find out about this child who had been giving me her books? I didn't know if Sister Alicia was out to catch my bad deeds that day but the dialing of the phone was as loud as drilling a hole into the wall. The lies I had constructed over the course of the full day had fallen out of my head like clear chicken broth from the incessant toll of the dial that rang in my ears. If Sister Alicia were to find me… If she just were to-

 

"Hello?" The other end of the line crackled, a heavy lisp was breathing up in my ear. My eyes went wide and my hand subconsciously shot up to stop a shout from escaping my mouth. I didn't know what I was expecting but it definitely wasn't this."Hello?" her voice was raised slightly now, "Who is this?"

 

"Hello, I'm… Therese," I whispered into the phone, half out of fear of being uncovered amidst the cloak of the night, half out of the fear that I had dialed the wrong number. If someone had seen me, all small figured, hunched over the phone on the table in my white nightgown, they might've thought me as a ghost.

 

"Are you only just a child?" the other end of the line demanded, "What are you doing up so late calling people? You should be asleep. Go get your parents, please." 

 

I raised my head and stared into the blackness, the slowly, took a deep breath. "I… I have this book. I'm looking for its owner and it says to call here. 18 Frick Drive, Alpine, New Jersey," I recited from memory. 

 

The other end of the phone sighed, and there was a clattering of the receiver before a distant mutter was heard, " _ Nitwit _ , it's yours." And very, very softly, in an almost mocking tone, the first woman laughed, "It's an itty bitty person. Be careful." 

 

"Hello?" Her voice slurred. Even at that age, I could tell that she must've been drinking.

 

"Is this the owner of the book  _ Five Children and It _ ?" I said in an airy voice.

 

There was a soft laugh, "Yes… It was my favorite book when I was what… Ten?" 

 

"I'm ten," I told her abruptly. 

 

I could tell that she was frozen on the other end of the phone. Perhaps, she had thought her friend was poking fun at her. After multiple breaths, she finally asked, "What's your name, doll?" 

 

"Therese. Therese Belivet," I breathed so close to the receiver I was sure she heard it as a shout in her ear. 

 

"Well,  _ Therese _ ," she let my name slip right of her tongue, "Tell me, why aren't you asleep? It is late. Too late for you to possibly be up. Who's letting you call me at this ungodly hour?" 

 

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning. "I'm uh… I'm- I just wanted to ask if you need the book back." 

 

"The book," the woman repeated. As I pressed the receiver harder against my ear, the crickets on the outside got louder. I was trying so hard to control my breathing over the handset for fear that she could hear all of my thoughts just by listening hard enough. "No," she said after many moments, "I don't think I need to have it anymore. You have it, Therese. A gift from me to you." 

 

"Why?" 

 

There was another eruption of unsettled muttering on the other end. 

 

"Well, darling, we just grow out of things. I cannot possibly think of a good explanation right now but when I do, you will be the first to know." 

 

"Are you in a rush to get off the phone?" I asked in the most innocent voice I could muster. Perhaps, it was I that titled over the edge with tears. Was this what it meant when Mother left me here? Did she just simply grow out of  _ things _ ?

 

"No," her voice caught in her throat. 

 

"Then why?" I asked again, this time with a firmer voice of a ten-year-old. 

 

"You ask many questions. Though I will let you know that I am due to be married in two weeks." she offered, "But I am flying off, away, to someplace in Europe first thing this morning. Where? I don't know. How long? A week, probably. With whom? My best friend." 

 

"Oh, don't tell her that!" I heard the other woman speak. 

 

"Don't you have to stay for the wedding?"

 

There was inaudible talking again, then a sigh close to the receiver, "Do you always call strangers at diabolical hours?" 

 

"No," I stared and stared into the darkness but nothing became clear, "I only called you about the book. You ask many questions." I repeated her confession back to her.

 

She gave a soft but audible chuckle. The line grew quiet again but nature outside grew wild with anticipation. The owls were making sounds I had never heard before and all of the cicadas that emerged were singing their own melodies. "What a strange girl you are." she heaved lightly. 

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

In clipped tones, she spoke, "The book is for you, my dear. I am going to hang up now. Good night, Therese."  _ Click. _

 

The excitable chatters from the class returned me to present. Each book in the pile found new owners.  _ Seize the day _ , I had written on the front page of each book. 

 

Carol and I locked eyes and I grew lost in them once again. An appalling silence I never knew could exist flooded my ears. Carol looked at me differently from anyone else. And I certainly had never been as consumed in a gaze as hers. For it is preposterous– to feel that you know someone, yet you meet them again, and again, in different times, different places, different circumstances; again and again, as though meeting them for the first time all over. 

 

_ 07.25.1943 I want to remember today. But I know I cannot. When time slips through my fingers like sand through a tight grip, things will be changed, bettered, exaggerated, metamorphosed, reconstructed. It is impossible to tell how I will remember the owner of this book. So I will write here now: I shall not remember her.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I'll be taking a short breather to catch up on other things. Postings will resume two weeks from now (14 July). Meanwhile, reviews are always welcome and extremely appreciated! Thanks so much. I love all my readers:)


	5. Wrath's Sob Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My break has been pushed back!

_I think of anger a lot like the sky. First comes the lightning, a flash! A slap, like anger's first advance. Second comes the thunder, a growling frightful warning that has come a fraction of a second too late, the slap cannot be undone. Third comes the rain, like sobs of Wrath's victims. Anger graduates. It goes away though it stays hidden between clouds in our thoughts. It is the consequences of fury–  lingering into guilt, the floods after a flurry of rainfall– that chide at us in the night. Gray is the color of the sky this morning. On this gray morning, I counted my toes twice and for a moment, I wasn’t sure they were all there._

 

By the next hour, Carol had been long gone from my class. She had excused herself in the midst of my teaching, but her solemn conversation with Sister Alicia did not go unnoticed by my sharp eyes.

 

The stairs disappeared under me as I bounded up two-step at a time, eager to talk to continue the conversation with Carol. More eager than I had ever been my whole entire life.

 

When I emerged from the stairwell, panting and slightly giddy, I saw Carol who had settled against the arch of the wooden door. She was looking at me and as I walked toward her, she slipped away into her room but left the door wide open.

 

I followed her.

 

The room was the same as we left it. Train set still out on full display. I apprehensively waited for her next words but she seemed reluctant to start any at all, comfortable in the heavy silence. I pursed and smacked my lips lightly, thinking of the right words before I decided to take it upon myself to start the conversation again.

 

“You were asking me about my father’s watch,” I pulled my sleeve away to look at the antique. She was looking in my direction, except not at me, but far, far away. Her mind was away and her soul had wandered off too. I stared at her like a hawk until I could no longer hold my eyelids open without blinking. “Carol, are you okay?" I asked, taking a step forward, "You’re… so obviously out of it. And you were-"

 

She glanced at me almost unbelievingly. “Let’s not talk about last night. You saw what you saw but there will be no explanation to that.” The tone of her voice made me feel small. I dared not to question. She was playing with her hair under the sun, pulling her curls apart before sweeping them back together. "You're young, too young to understand," she concluded in a disappointed sigh after awhile, "How… How old are you now?"

 

"Twenty," I answered.

 

"Twenty!" Carol exclaimed back, "To think when I was twenty! I was probably strolling through Paris as I awaited my nuptials. God, why did I ever think that marrying him would be good?"

 

"With Mr Aird?" I wondered out loud.

 

"Yes– Hargess. I was only married once. I'm not some sort of whore," she gibed, looking annoyed at my question even though there were no sly meanings between them. We fell into the same old silence again. I felt sick, thinking that I would have to continue the conversation when she asked, "When did you know that this was what you wanted to do?"

 

"Teach, you mean?" I swallowed silently, very carefully.

 

"Yes. Is there even anything else you're doing now?" her words were laced with vague sarcasm.

 

"No," I murmured regretfully. I looked down at my shoes and the pattern on the hardwood floor became blurry. Was this it? What was this? My eyes become glossy in an instant but I was still looking at the wordings embossed on her suitcase. _C. Spencer._ But my eyes weren't really focussed after a second and I drew a breath so deep the air not only filled my lungs but my gut too. My gut churned until it turned itself inside out.

 

"I shouldn't have said that," I felt Carol's voice travel closer. My eyes continued their cast towards until I saw her shoes appear in my peripheral vision. I muttered a few words out of my capacity. When I looked up, she was directly to my right and her hands were hovering over my shoulder. "I'm sorry. You're right. I am out of it." she shook her head in contempt, and looked at me with a smoldering gaze, "That was really nonsense, wasn't it?"

 

Her lips looked like she might've been trying to salvage her unkind words for a joyful joke but it was already too late. Without touching my shoulder, she withdrew her hand. Carol looked at the worries that lined the ridges of my creased forehead and she searched through the broken tears in my glassy eyes to understand the quivered explanations I had to give her about crying. I could feel her massive presence like a still butterfly on a flower. Except I was really but a small withered flower. "It's f-ine. We all have our bad days," I whispered, trying to hold back tears.

 

" _Oh, Therese_ ," she sighed delicately, "We do. But I should not have been so foolish to have taken it out on you. Will you accept my apology?" She asked, slapping her scarf in one palm.

 

My eyes met hers once again and it had been a gaze of mutual agreement; that I had forgiven her. But there was nothing to forgive. I swayed my hips from side to side, shaking away the nervousness that came with understanding her so scarcely. Perhaps it was that evasive personality of her that drew me in fiercely and I refused to relent. I wanted to know more. And I would have to forgive her again, for her words, somewhere in near future, over and over. I knew that– because it was in her nature, to throw detached, aloof, unfiltered words in the way of people. And I dared not tamper with nature.

 

"What are your plans after this?"

 

"I have another class after lunch… The Sisters will be cooking a sumptuous dinner afte-"

 

"Would you be free after class?"

 

"Carol, I..."

 

"Would like to join me for dinner, away?" She asked in firmer, more specific words, "In town, back in New York. I know this great place around Madison Avenue that Abby always brings me to."

 

My mind reeled in at the thought of going to dinner with Carol. I wasn't sure this was what I wanted. I wasn't sure of anything at all. "I was thinking-"

 

"Would you join me anyway? As an apology, for acting like a complete fiend towards you earlier. Would you?" she quipped. Her eyes were resolute.

 

Carol had that in her. She already knew before she had spoken those first word to me– that I was going to say yes. I kept thinking about her, her low deep voice and the way she nudged me toward each reaction she had laid out for me. "Yes," the sigh I gave afterward could've been in relief, or in excitement but my teeth troubled my lips, clinging onto them until they drew blood. Before my mind could work through what I was about to propose, I offered,  "Come with me."

 

My hands reached out instantaneously for her hand and I half-dragged her by the wrist toward my room on the other side of the wall. To think that only these walls separated us now, when we had come from such different worlds.

 

"You asked me when I knew teaching was what I wanted to do," I chatted, a singular power of passion overtook me.

 

"So I did," she nodded while fidgeting with her hair. Her weight shifted from one leg to the other, then back. She looked awfully out of place in my crabby room. She looked out of place everywhere, I felt. At least in every backdrop I had seen her in.

 

"Teaching isn't what I want to do. But it pays the bills and I get to share my love for these," I spontaneously bent down to lift up the entire dusty mattress to reveal a stuffy scent and an array of books I had collected over the years, from the old girls who gave theirs to me as a parting gifts, from under table books that Sister Alicia handed to me, the ones I've left behind to the books I've brought from my trip now, from Richard, Danny and all my other friends in town.

 

It was no secret that I loved books. But Carol looked at me as though she couldn't believe what she saw. Each book reminded me of a different part of my life.

 

"Can I?" she whispered in soft, overwhelmed tone, bending down toward the bed that I had propped up.

 

"Yes," I replied, and watched as her hands wavered over the books like a woman at the market, choosing the best, freshest meat, choosing the book that held onto my heart. The first book she picked out was: _Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451._

 

"I have never seen this one," she commented, hand brushing against the brand new edges of the beige book cover. She picked it up by the spine, catching it with both hands as though it were fragile.

 

"That's a new one. My friend Danny got that for me. It was just published last year," I pointed as she flipped through the pages.

 

"Mmm..." she hummed, as she picked out a notebook paper that was stowed between the pages. "What's this? _Death. Fire. Rebirth._ " she read aloud the three words and scraped the surface with her thumb.

 

"I… It's three words that summarize the book. So I won't forget, what the book means. I write one for every book I've read." I blushed. I had forgotten about those little notes.

 

"That's bold. To have just three words substituting a book that's made out of thousand others," she said, but her eyes were kind and held no contempt as she looked back up at me, paper between her index and middle fingers. I noticed her the gold ring on her fourth finger and wondered what that meant. She was divorced, wasn't she?

 

I watched her actions, my mind magnifying her every move as she gracefully placed the book back to its place and her hands began the search for her next target. Her hands hovered over where I had the books from Sister Alicia. Then she withdrew her hand as if something had scorched her. I thought Carol was done looking, so I slowly began to lower down the mattress but her arm flew up midair to catch it.

 

" _Five Children and It_ ," she dragged the title against the rough edges of her tongue, hand reaching for the book that was all the way on the inside. I shuddered at the weight of her heavy voice against those words. As she flipped the book open with her thumb pressed against the ridges, a similar small piece of paper flew out. "It's blank?" she questioned.

 

"I must've left that in by accident," I covered up.

 

"Mmhm," she held her breath, flipping the piece of paper between her fingers, "But where are the three words?"

 

"I didn't write one for this one," I said.

 

"Oh." A small but noticeable frown formed through pursed lips but no questions came after. Her eyes were in a squint again as she studied the book like a museum curator would a piece of art. She kept on flipping the book, seemingly looking for something, as though she knew how important this book was. As though she knew my conversation with the woman that night. Her efforts paid off when she found those words in lead against the yellow blotchy pages. Unlike the words that were traced in prized ink, my words were written in cheap lead. Pathetic graphite– that broke off into a run in a round wriggly handwriting, my name first, followed by a phrase. Nothing beautiful like the woman's handwriting. Nothing glorious to look at but they were her exact words, and they beautified everything else, "A gift from me to you."

 

Carol looked obsessively at the words. She looked at me once again, back at the book. And under her breath whispered, "How wondrous it is, don't you think?"

 

"What is?" I pressed on.

 

"Somethings shouldn't… No. Somethings just don't lose their magic when you grow up," she smiled this time with her mind elsewhere hovering over another memory, "This is one of them, isn't it?"

 

I did not understand what she meant by that. Before I could ask though, she had moved on. Her thoughts were like sharks. Once they stopped, they drowned.

 

"So… What do you read these days? I'm sure it's not this," she put the book down in its corner again. I reached out to straighten it before allowing the mattress to fall back in place. I slipped my hands, this time, under the legs of the bed to yank out the wedged book from between the floor and my wooden frame. I held it up and showed her the book as part of a peace offering. "This?" she took the heavy worn out book from my hands, "War and Peace."  

 

"Only the Peace part," I chuckled, bringing my index to cover "War" from sight.

 

"We all know that's the good part, isn't that right, _Miss Belivet_?" she teased. The uncanny curve to her lips was there again, a proud trademark I have come to recognize.

 

I could only smile dizzyingly at her. But you see, there is always this inexplicable peace before the real storm.

 

###

 

Another class between the time of dinner and then, picked Carol and I apart once again. I had seen her, disappearing into the forest of unknown shapes behind the house but also watched intently of her reappearance from within, marching across the plain fields of winter, away from a wispy figure that followed behind. Another woman in a headscarf was trudging right behind Carol like a ghastly resentment. I knew she was back in her room.

 

As I took the steps needed to close the distance between Helena's– no, Carol's temporary room and I, I could hear angry voices being emanated from deep within. There were two voices, both sounding so similar in length and depth that it would be impossible to tell them apart. But even from where I stood frozen, I knew it was Carol– and the other woman.

 

They weren’t pleasant words.

 

"You think you can just run away to across the stream and I won't find you?" the woman yelled, and I could feel the ferocity vibrating in her words. “Carol, give me that _fucking_ thing," there was a lot of movement around the room and the two seemed to be in a fight of sorts.

 

"I have thi _s_ under control," Carol muttered with an annoyance.

 

"You have nothing under control, Carol. You're a fucking mess and I am not letting you go down the rabbit hole," the other yelled back. It sounded like they had been arguing for a while already, and had come to somewhat of an impasse.

 

"I had her, Abigail! I had her!" A desperate shout from Carol was heartbreaking to hear. What had she lost?

 

"Rindy's–" And there was a thud, someone had fallen down somewhere, followed by a clinking of something breakable, gracing the hardwood floor as fragments of sheer transparency smashed into uneven sharp edges. Then a sharp hissing sound permeated the walls, leaving my ears perked.

 

"Abigail!" there was a flourish, then hard thumping toward the door.

 

Before I could even react, the door swung open and a dishevelved Carol stood under the arch of the wooden door. Her bottom lip was quivering and a woman was on her knees holding tightly onto her head as though she had been struck down by a bad case of migraines. Except there was blood around Carol's knuckles and likewise around the other woman's head.

 

The shattering I had heard earlier belonged to the vase on the counter that had been the first thing Carol’s fist kissed, and the fresh redness against her alabaster skin gave me goose pimples. The smell that wafted through the air was musky, like grandma’s old cabin. I didn’t know anger smelt like that.

 

I heard another thud, this time from behind me. It belonged to the cane of Sister Alicia. I spun around to greet the woman, who was still in her apron.

 

"Carol," Sister Alicia gasped.

 

Carol looked defiant and helpless at the same time, her face a zig-zag mess of emotions I didn't know was possible. I could tell by the quiver in the corner of her lips that she was about to release a series of sobs, but still, she held on, too strong, too proud, too guarded.

 

There was a clench in her jaw that was unrecognizable until the woman behind her collapsed into a heap on the floor, limbs all akimbo. "Oh, Abby!" Sister Alicia called out again, rushing to the aid of the woman.

 

There are two responses of the human body during survival mode. Fight or flight. My body was choosing between the two while fear was gripping onto my neck and scraping the insides of my throat. My feet picked up pace, running me down the hallway. "The entire emergency box is right on the top shelves with the other medications," Sister Alicia called after me, as though reading my thoughts through and through. My mind had settled on both. Flee the scene and return later for a fight. I was to retrieve the first-aid box from the head Sister's room.

 

The sound of my rummaging called out to the children like a whistle to dogs and soon, I was surrounded by all of the eager faces I had just seen in class. Sister Gertrude as well as Sister Judith joined me in my search for the sole, most important box in my life at that point of time. But by the time I had returned, a crowd had gathered and Carol already had Sister Alicia's apron wrapped around Abby's head though her hand was a flourish of bruises.

 

"Carol, your hands," I wheezed, suddenly feeling faint from the blood. Carol was undeterred by the purple-red patches.

 

I passed the box to Sister Alicia, a nurse by training, who surprisingly passed on the box to Carol. I watched fast hands unclasp the metal container before sweeping gauze and the glass bottle of alcohol all in one smooth motion. She looked like she had done this a thousand and one times before– soaking the white cotton wet before placing it on the woman's forehead. There was no sound of crying apart from Carol's heavy breathes but she looked too focussed to have noticed the tears silent protests against her cheeks.

 

"Is she okay?" I asked apprehensively, still holding my breath.

 

"She will be," Sister Alicia sighed after a beat, "Abigail faints at the slightest hint of blood."

 

My heart stopped for a moment. It was time for Carol to collapse herself, sitting on her calves as dabbed her face with her sleeves, leaving a white powdery imprint on the brown. "She will be alright," she reinforced, perhaps to console herself. I watched her eyes flutter shut from the weight of worry.

 

"Sister James?" Sister Alicia called out, "Can you come help-"

 

"I can help," I interjected, putting myself forth from the group.

 

"No," Carol refused me firmly, pushing me aside as she stood up. She waved for Sister James and Sister Gertrude who stood beyond my shoulders, "Abby's too heavy; I don't want you to hurt your back."

 

She positioned herself at the woman's head which flopped back at forth as Carol seeked to get a good grip around broad shoulders. With the weight evenly distributed amongst the other three, they gave three counts and the poor woman was lifted onto Helena– onto Carol's bed. I dispersed the girls that had gathered, calling for them to follow the other Sisters for dinner which had already been prepared in the grand dining hall below.

 

By the time I spun back around, Carol had made herself as comfortable as she could on the tiny dressing table stool. She was brushing the woman's hair out of her face, allowing the brunette strands to fall in a way like a frame around a pale ghost.

 

"Abigail, oh, I am so sorry," Carol whispered with a crack in her voice, her palm resting on her friend's cheeks.

 

 _It's not your fault_ , I wanted to say. But it was also not my place to make comments like that. Perhaps it was Carol's fault. I would allow her to take the responsibility of what she had done. I stalked around the room. Picking up the glass shards felt remotely close to picking up the littered pieces of Carol's heart. "Is she very important to you?" I asked without looking up.

 

There was no reply. Her mind was full with thoughts and my words weren't one of them.

 

I found myself standing behind her, brown bag in hand, looking apprehensively over to the woman with the brunette hair. I swam around an odd pool of familiarity. Carol sniffled, hand to mouth. "I think I should go," I told Carol.

 

"Mmm," she murmured, she set her gaze at my feet as though encouraging for me to leave.

 

I took her hand and passed her the roll of bandages I had picked up on my way to her, "The cuts look nasty. You should clean them up," I nudged the bottle of ointment toward her as well.

 

"Thank you..." she spoke so softly I had barely heard it. Her hands shakily retracted themselves and she sat in silence, hands on her lap, mind elsewhere again. My skirt made a twirl as I walked in the direction away from Carol, each step heavier from the last. By the time I had reached the door, a creak in the hinges of the door was the loudest noise in the room. And the heavy distinct smell of alcohol became alarmingly clear.

 

"And Therese..." she breathed out just loud enough as I was about to leave the room, "I have to-" her voice trailed paper thin.

 

"Cancel dinner. I know," I completed her sentence, giving her a consolating smile in return. I turned away, overwhelmed by the sensation that Carol was giving away. Fear, pain, regret, everything along the lines of those bad feelings. As I shut the door, a soft sob came from within and I understood in a second the magnitude of what Carol had done. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it loud and clear, like a susurrate against my ear– the sound of Carol choking as the tight grip she had over her frown faltered.

 

_12.20.1954 I thought anger would smell a lot indignant and a lot more ferocious, maybe something like the smell of hot sauce that assaults your nostrils during Thanksgiving. I guess anger smells like that at first but after a while, the sharp penetrating smell goes away and in comes the stench of tolerance and age. The smell of rain, the stench of sewage water pouring out of drains. That's exactly what anger smells like._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I still need that break even though I published chapter 5 this week! All your comments and reviews spurred me on, which was why I was able to complete the chapter by this week instead of the next. Chapter 6 will resume in two weeks (21st July). So many sorrys on my part. Thank you so much for your understanding. I loved reading all the amazing reviews. I am really so grateful for everyone who's left them as well as those who have left Kudos or those who have simply enjoyed my writing! <3 Understanding how my readers feel when they read my writing helps me become a better writer. I beg of you to continue leaving those glorious comments... See you in two weeks!


	6. Half and Half

_Fate; it's a blindness thing. You're kept in the dark, tapping and shoving people in the front. And when you finally step into the light, it's a different scene altogether from what you had in mind. All of a sudden, you are forced to see all the past mistakes that could have been prevented._

 

"Carol?" I called out, but only darkness answered.

 

I had gone to bed that same night across the walls, nothing seemed off. The next day, however, I found myself in her room, staring out into the plains that went on and on trying to hide the moistness in my eyes. At every creak, every sound, every vague movement, I would turn around time and again, heart in mouth, ready to spring out. But the empty room had other meanings. Today, I woke up, intent on doing preparation for the day's classes but I found myself in Carol's room again, cleaning out a cobweb that had been spun overnight. It had been three days since I had seen Carol around the house. There was no talk, or even mention of Carol around. It was like she had disappeared into thin air. As though all had been a dream.

 

I was feeling down. _From a flu?_ I asked myself. It was a cold winter after all. How else could I justify this heavyweight in my heart? My lungs were full of fluids and my nose was like a running tap. Walking pneumonia, I had come to conclusion.

 

It was mid-afternoon and although the sun was supposed to be out, there was rain and dark clouds; the whole atmosphere quite dreary, really. Carol was at the back of my mind because I hadn’t had time all morning to think and find excuses as to where she went. I had barely known her anyway, why was it that she held any space in my already crowded mind? I had spent the whole morning up till now, skipping breakfast, to unclog the loo. But now that one of the children had rattled on the culprit, I held Lucy by the wrist, angrily stomping down the hallway to Sister Alicia's office by the foyer. "Stop crying, Lucy," I sighed with contempt. I hated it when children cried over their mistakes. I believed very much to own up to one's mistakes, much more a purposeful mistake. I don’t believe in accidents.

 

I noticed that the heating had been fixed as I walked through the crispy warm house. It was _D-2 to Christmas,_ I made a mental note. _What was I to do over Christmas?_ Usually, I spent them with Richard, Danny, and the sorts. But there was no saying what I would do now.

 

It was too noisy for me to sort out my thoughts now. Lucy was still crying through her mouth. And the toilet still would not unclog itself. "Lucy, why is it that you don't listen to anything I say?" I stopped mid-step.

 

Unruly curls were jumping as her cries subsided to a hiccup by my side. I marched around the corner, lifting her hand higher as I guided her to walk in front of me and into the office.

 

"Sisters," I acknowledged the women in the room. There were three of them, Sister Alicia, Sister James and Sister Margaret.

 

I explained how I had fished a torn book out of the toilet bowl that morning. And how it took no detective to figure out who the culprit was. I held up the brown paper bag that contained the evidence before the judging and Sister Alicia’s face registered anger. I had forgotten how strict she really was. She hit her cane against the side of the wooden table and pointed the cane at the door with a punishment in command. I left with Lucy, crying even harder now. The little girl was to stand out in the field out front next to the driveway holding what was left of the book over her head, for an hour. No more, no less.

 

I grabbed our coats while on the way out, reminiscing the way my old gray coat wrapped itself around my body until it could no longer fit as I bent down to put an almost identical looking one on her. I stepped away and looked at her, deciding whether or not it was thick enough material for a fair battle between a five-year-old and cold before removing the lengthy garment. I took a similar jumper from the rack and wore it over her before throwing the coat back on, then another as we left the house. I looked at blue irises between puffy eyelids and grimaced, knowing full well if I had just taken matters into my own hand, this would've all been unnecessary.

 

So she stood there, out in the plains of withered grass, while I looked at her small figure that added very little to the already downcast weather. Her cries rolled out like thunders and her mind was lit with an array of pain although none of us touched her. I found myself compelled at finding out how children’s mind worked. The way primal cries were formed with little to no thoughts, and the way they were forgotten at the slightest distraction.

 

I felt bad. I never was quite a disorderly child like her but it still was painful to watch her cry as though God had forsaken her. It must've been thirty minutes later when I could tell that she was truly tired, almost dozing off while trying to stand at attention. Her hands were dropping well below her head. I walked toward her and pulled the bag from her to allow her little tired arms to rest. My hands found themselves in her golden coils and I snaked them through them in a comforting manner.

 

Her tears stopped for bare seconds but mother nature would not let her rest. The skies cracked in a loud boom and unleashed a torrent of rain upon us. I quickly shielded Lucy with my body from the onslaught of pitter patters but it was not enough. The thunder had startled her in her fragile state and her tears were seeping through my tweed coat. I pulled her up on my waist, as heavy as she was, and tried to make a dash for the entrance forty yards away, which seemed light years away with Lucy and the rain.

 

I made her drop the book where we were standing and hastened my steps toward the door. As I approached the driveway, I could see that a car was parked right around where I was and a tall blurry figure emerged from the driver's side holding a brolly. She swiftly made her way around the car from behind me and cast her arm around my shoulder, bringing us closer together and the umbrella over our heads.

 

"Therese, _my god_ ," the woman's voice fought against the rain, "What are you doing out in this rain with a child?"

 

"Carol?" I gasped, coming to an abrupt stop. "Carol!" I exclaimed again as though I couldn't believe she was here.

 

"Move! Silly," she yelled through the rain again as she pushed against my shoulders and we broke into a tiny scurry for shelter. I checked on Lucy who was against my chest and was glad to see that she had stopped crying already. Her fingers were gripping onto my clothes for dear life, disallowing me to pluck her away from me when we reached our destination.

 

"Lucy? Hey, I have to put you down," I struggled with the weight of her on my hips and bounced her a little.  

 

"Come on, give her to me," Carol chimed in after shaking the umbrella clean of droplets. She put her mink coat on the rack and peeled Lucy from me. I watched in utter awe as Carol began her magic. "Lucy! My dearest angel. You are such a doll, aren't you?" there was a joy to her voice, like she genuinely enjoyed doing this. She supported Lucy with just one hand and her other bobbed the girl's button nose, earning a giggle from the little one.

 

Carol took a moment to admire the little girl before she placed a gentle kiss on Lucy's cheeks and inhaled deeply. They walked deeper into the hallway and disappeared around the corner as I sorted our muddy shoes out at the foyer. When their chuckles grew distant, I thought about how lucky Lucy was, despite the day, to have met a person like Carol, someone that truly cared about her.

 

And I thought about how lucky I was, to have met Carol. I hurried away at the thought of seeing Carol later, perhaps even striking a conversation. I couldn't believe I was lucky two folds; to be able to see Carol again.

 

###

 

The fireplace was crackling down in the common room where I was changing into a new outfit. I emerged clothed in a dark turtleneck long sleeved that I had paired with a blue checked pinafore. Sister James called out for me to bring the tray of biscuits up to Carol's room.

 

I held the treats gingerly in my hand as I bumped the door open to the simple room. "Hi," I smiled. Carol's sleepy eyes looked toward the tray in my arms and nodded. There was a beat, and the somber, slightly dull atmosphere in the room made itself present. “She’s finally fallen asleep,” I remarked, looking at the blonde child in her bed. I glanced around the room. “Where is Ms. Abigail? Is she better now?"

 

"Abby's fit as a fiddle," Carol replied. She put her hand against Lucy's back and tapped lightly to lull the child to sleep. It reminded me of how Sister Alicia rubbed circles around my back.

 

She looked less upset and more relieved than three nights ago. The way she sat on the chair was one of a kind. I never thought any woman could be as refined, as sophisticated as Carol. She had changed from her wet clothes but her legs were still wrapped in silk tights like the previous and a white-yellow scarf was carelessly hanging off a side of her shoulders. Gone was the smell of the alcohol although Carol's perfume fought now, for center stage against the smell of cigars. Carol put the one in her hand out. It had barely been touched. A few minutes rolled past with words.

 

"You asked me, that evening, if she was important to me. When you've known someone for the better half of your life..."

 

"Has it been a very long time?"

 

"We met when we were six and eight accordingly," she smiled blandly, simply pulling her lips taut. If I could put it into a descriptor, I would say it wasn't at all a smile. " _You_ look tired," she surprised me. I looked at the dark bags around her eyes and wondered if she had the right to say that. She looked more than tired.

 

I couldn't sleep since I woke up and found Carol's room packed. "I didn't sleep much-"

 

"You were worried? Weren't you? About me, and Abby. Where I'd gone."

 

My non-answer left an awkward silence that tried badly to fill the room. I wanted to tell her that it was like the ghosts were in my walls again, just as it did when I lived with my mother after my father's death. She looked away and pretended that I did not hear the question, although she knew I did. "I'm sorry," she apologised suddenly.

 

"What for? There's nothing to be sorry about."

 

"I should've left a note but I was in such a hurry," she shook her head with regrets.

 

"Oh– it's fine, Carol. Really, there's no need to apologize for that."

 

"Where did you get all this?"

 

"What?"

 

She leaned back in her chair, hand slipping away from Lucy's and crossed her arms around her chest, "Sensitivity to things. Abby is nothing like you. She only senses things she wants to. You feel everything. All of it."

 

I walked around to set the tray down on the bedside table. The candle was flickering in the corner and I blew it out gently. "Is that good or bad?"

 

"Depends on how you see things," she said, "What do you think?"

 

"I don't know how I see things."

 

She laughed, like a cackle, except it was low, like a funny guffaw. Carol looked at me smugly again and she opened her mouth, but just as the words were about to appear, Lucy flipped in the bed, her face now facing away from us. Carol put her finger to her curled lips. She had a twinkle in her eye, as though she were playing a game with me. "Let's go to your room, shall we?" she spoke in a harsh whisper, pointing out into the hallway.

 

I nodded and watched as Carol crept out of creaking chair and out of the door. I followed closely behind, shutting the door.

 

“You’re drenched.” I pointed out. The bottom half of her skirt was dampened.

 

“It’ll dry. Let’s talk about something else.”

 

"Can I ask you something?”

 

“Go on.”

 

“What were you arguing about?"

 

The mood in the room darkened immediately as I addressed the elephant. Carol gave me a look. "Abby and I–? Nothing–" She frowned while she scraped a match across its box, "Though I will offer this to your anxious heart; if it was anything at all, it was daft. It should not have been a topic for an argument at all."

 

"Why?"

 

"Look at the questions you ask." She sat on my bed, then stood up and laughed bitterly, "If Mother had seen me sitting on those books you've got hidden under there."

 

"I've heard that from Sister Alicia," I walked over and lowered myself onto the bed. Why shouldn't we sit on books? Because they are paper filled with words and thoughts? We walk over undiscovered cemeteries all the time, what was the difference? They were once people with words and thoughts. They had families. If we can do that– walk right over them, build foundations over their remains, then why can't we sit on books? My side was against the bed and I watched Carol move to cross her legs on the chair she settled in, "But no one said you can't sleep on them."

 

"You're cheeky this morning, like nothing is bothering you."

 

"Is anything bothering you?"

 

There was a pause, then a soft, "No."

 

She held her head in an angled tilt to match my position on the bed, the red lipstick was wrapped around her lips and a warmth was in her eyes. Although tired, she looked calm– the calmest she had been since I had first seen her. But the stubborn sadness lingered in the air around her. She paused to take a puff out of her cigar, and exhaled after another beat, "You grew up here, didn't you?"

 

"Yes."

 

There was a beat. Carol looked up and in silence, waited for me to continue. I looked back at her and examined her features closely. The arch of blondes over her eyes and her cheeks were caked with a light powder rose and a small, small blemish on her forehead was a quarter of a shade lighter than the rest from the excess powder. Despite that, she looked perfect. She finally said, "Will you tell me about it?"

 

"What do you want to know? It was a plain childhood. I don't think I am very excited at all."

 

"Humour me," she said, rubbing a finger over her right temple in an attempt to ease what I thought was a mild headache. "We would've talked about this over dinner."

 

"There isn't really–"

 

"Come on, Therese," her words had a pace in them, urging me before she became too impatient to continue.

 

"Carol, I–"

 

"Tell me," she snapped at me alas, sternly like a teacher who'd lost her patience would to a student and I jerked up on the bed into a sitting position at full attention.

 

I really did not want to do all the talking. Where would I start? My life was a pathetic course of miseries and plain summers. If I was going to have to do this, Carol was not going to get away with a silent gaze. "Ask me," I told her, "That's the only way I can tell you."

 

She took another long puff, her face disappearing behind an equally lengthy exhale. "Why– Why was a child like you put here? A perspective child like you has no place in somewhere like this."

 

"You'd have to ask my mother, Carol. It's not something I can answer."

 

"Stop fooling yourself," Carol urged curtly. Another deep exhale.

 

"My father died when I was six," I finally offered reluctantly.

 

Her gaze snapped at me. "What happened?"

 

I couldn't believe she had the audacity to ask that. "He died was what happened. Do you really need me to justify his death? Is there really a need for that?" Anger suddenly birthed itself from my mouth. I was stunned.

 

Carol seemed less, as though she had expected this sort of outburst from me. "Tell me," she looked unafraid albeit she was walking on thin ice. The chair scratched across the wooden planks as Carol pulled herself nearer, as though it would provide me with more support of what I was about to divulge to her.

 

"I never told anyone this, not even Sister Alicia."

 

She nodded and gestured for me to go on.

 

"My father was a lawyer. Not a very good one. He died of pneumonia, but not the way you'd think he did, in a hospital here. He was a big man, with light hair and smoky green eyes. Esther– my mother thought I looked every bit like him. Which was perhaps why she put me here. So she could forget about him and his unglorified death. I don't remember looking at him at all. He left shortly after my birth to Germany where he died saving his sister's family. He was there and one night, the Nazis raided the houses in 1935. And he spent many months in the ditches because the whole country was on lockdown. You could imagine how the living conditions were like. Then came that one day when he coughed his lungs out. He died a very unremarkable death amongst millions who died worse."

 

"That's a bad thing to say of your father, Therese," Carol almost chided.

 

I continued, undeterred, "I don't suppose my mother loved my father at all. It was always him who loved her more. Is that the way it is supposed to be?"

 

"No," Carol reckoned.

 

“He was not very bright then,” I said. Carol stared at me. I quickly added, “I’m not very bright either. But I know not to dream of things too far in the distance.” I tinkered with the idea of going on, revealing the woman on the phone, but withdrew my words before they could reach the front of my lips.

 

Carol looked lost as she let my words sink into her. I asked, "Now will you tell me about you?"

 

She entangled a couple of golden strands in her hand. "Maybe. Though, tell me now; do you blame your mother?" she whispered, and although she was quite a distance away, her words were spoken which such resonance, they were so close to me, I could feel her words against my skin.

 

"My mother was not a very good one." My words looked like they had struck a nerve in Carol and she backed away almost immediately. Her throat looked strained. "Carol? Is something wrong?"

 

"Do you hear yourself? You've asked that already," she said.

 

"Something's bothering you," I demanded. When she looked back down at the pattern on her skirt, taking in my blunt words. I urged on with a nervous laugh and a lighter tone, "I told you my whole life before this place because you insisted. Half and half."

 

She furrowed her brows and looked away. Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish in the water. Carol looked back up at me and she clenched her jaw tight. "It's my daughter," she relented after two beats, " _She's not dead_ . Not like the way you think she is. She's _ill_. In the hospital since Thanksgiving."

 

"That's over a month ago," I calculated, "If you are still..."

 

She wasn't like other mothers who bawled at the thought of their sick daughters. She was holding onto herself so tightly I did not know what to make of it. Her husky voice began slowly, "She’s… very sick. The doctors say that she has this… She has what _they think_ is brain– What they _think_ is not important," her face was flustered, "She's in a comatose state. Do you– do you even know what that is? I certainly did not. I do not–" she paused and pressed her palms flat against her thighs. I could see that she was gathering her next words. Carol continued, "I do not know how someone lives like this. She is alive because they feed her through a tube and let her breathe through a whirring machine– that– the _machine_ – that makes these preternatural noises that puts the air in her lungs and whisks them out when they think she's had enough. And her blood goes in and out of cylinders and– she–" she took a deep breath and choked, "There is nothing available to confirm this thing she has. The only thing we can do is wait. She _can't_ talk, she _can't_ move. She might as well be dead. She might as well be all of dead."

 

I wanted to cry out for injustice but Carol was holding onto herself so tightly, how could I fall apart when she wasn't? "But there is still hope, isn't there?" my voice cracking.

 

She shook her head with an implacable answer, "Rindy is going to be pulled off the artificial breathing machine by next year. Then she'll be gone. There was a time when I would've… I would've done just _anything_ to save my little girl. But to see her suffer– I– Harge– He holds onto his grief."

 

"How– Why?" How does such a bad thing like that, the ones we only hear in hushed whispers during a smoke break in a dark alley, how does something like that happen to a person like Carol?

 

"John; Hargess' Father."

 

Carol looked into the distance and I imagined her to be recounting as though the accident had happened right there, right behind me, right now.

 

The sun was setting very fast that particular evening. While the skies were still a purple bruise, a young girl was in the house playing with the train set near the Christmas tree; a father and son pair were smoking out at the front of the house. The older of the two men was leaning against one of the cold glass panels and was going off about how tired he was of his son putting up with his wife because of their daughter. He thinks that his son still loves her. The little girl had moved toward the kitchen to get treats from their housekeeper, a bland woman, all while Carol was still enjoying what she could of the New York night scene. Now, an older woman, the son's mother walked over and joined the conversation that was heating up drastically, trying to appease both men. The son lamented that he still loved his wife because she was the only person he knew how to love. The son calls out for the little girl so his father will keep his head cool. In the midst of all this, Abby and Carol are driving through Lincoln tunnel. It was now dark out and the street lamps were no good at all. The girl, being a little one, was interested less in the talk and more so in the doll that was peeking out of the green-red striped stocking near the bay window. The father heads out with his wife for their car that was parked right outside of the large house. The girl wanders off and watches intently as bright lights began to appear in the distance. The girl sprung up from her dull play as Abby's car rolled into the driveway, top still up.

 

The girl emerges from the large wooden doors and finds herself running towards the cars. Momentarily distracted by his rage, the father backs his car. It all happens too expeditiously– too hastened for something this bad to occur. "Because it would make it impossible to stop. And she had been– She had been waiting for– Me, _god_ ," Carol gasped offensively, "I was late– And Rindy–"

 

And Rindy was ran over. Twice. Once backwards, once forwards. And the grotesque cracking of a child's fragile bones, that sounded just like a tree branch breaking off during a heavy storm, impaled the stale night.

 

"I'm sorry," I murmured when I couldn't find any words.

 

"Don't be," she put out her second cigarette since I came in.

 

I tried to understand all that she had gone through, but it was impossible. There was nothing to understand in something so simple. "Is there anything– Anything at all–"

 

"No," she said, although her gaze at me looked like she was begging for me to say something. A beat, "I am– I am not a good mother."

 

I shook my head furiously. I could not have Carol repeat the same words I would have used to label my mother. "It's different. You–"

 

She held up her hand to stop me from going any further. "I should've–" her voice was in such a low tremor, like an earthquake was in them, "I should have been there for her. I should have fought."

 

"Carol," I whispered softly and looked at her, "This is none of your fault. Accidents are no one's fault."

 

She shook her head and bowed deeply. "I should've fought for her- Her, I should've- When Harge wanted to- To take her away. I should've don- I should've– I could've done so many things. But I didn't." She fidgeted in her seat and her mouth opened. Her jaw was loose with words piling up. There was a long pause. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and fine-tuned. In the steadiest beat she could muster, "I wish I had fought," she paused again, inhaling shakily, "I wish I had fought for Rindy when there was still something to fight about." Those last concluding words curled into a whimper as she finally looked away and broke.

 

Her chin was quivering under the weight of it all and I did something bold. I surprised myself. I pulled Carol– the fearsome, reckless, most austere Carol– I pulled her up and into an embrace so tight; my lesser world collided with hers.

 

_12.23.1953 Fate– it's a blindness thing. It leads us back into the festering darkness where we can neither see nor control it. Fate is reality slapping you right in the face. Except, there are no lemons to make lemonade, no mistakes to be undone, no faults to be blamed, and you are left there; palm to the growing redness of your cheek._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a joy to complete. I hope it'll suffice until the next update which may not come for two weeks, again. Life keeps me (too) busy... Comments, reviews, kudos are adored as usual! I would love to know your favorite sentence from this chapter! Otherwise, stay cool! See you in a week, maybe two.


	7. Lo and Behold

_ Some nights ago, I dreamt about being in a yellow car. A taxicab, perhaps. But you know how dreams are. They never really make any sense. I had someone’s purse next to me, its contents spilling out like me and my guts. Except, it can hold itself together better than I can.   _

 

I imagined Carol being in the in-between of things where I couldn't possibly have imagined despite my wandering mind. I remember the time my mother looked like that. A couple of months before she had left me here…

 

"Mom?" I called out as I leaped into her arms. It was one of those rare days she came to pick me up from school. She had come in that yellow car that the man owned. The man's name was Nick, and I didn't like him very much.

 

" _ Reese _ ," she acknowledged. She was the only one to have called me that. My father had named me  _ Therese _ , a name my mother only compromised for the nickname. "It's cold, why aren't you wearing the coat I bought you?" she chided as she took off her scarf and put it around me. I felt the cashmere around my skin. You see, when my father was still alive, we could've never afforded these luxuries. But Nick… Nick lived in out on Long Island where they had it better than us.

 

I think my mother fell in love with that.

 

"I don't like the red coat you bought me," I told her. 

 

"Well, it's good then that Nick and I bought you a new one." 

 

"What color is it?" 

 

"Green," she said, "Your favorite color, isn't it?" It wasn't, but I nodded. How could green be anyone's favorite color? Gray and blue were mine. She gave me a sweet smile, "Come on, it's so cold out here," her words were making swirly fogs that rose upwards like little dragons. I looked into her eyes, and although she refused to admit it, I saw myself in her. The cold, hard glances, the taut thin lips and the pale skin that made us look so sickly. 

 

We were quiet after that as we made our way from the school to Nick's Cadillac. 

 

"How was school?" she asked after we got in. She sat in the front next to Nick and placed a kiss on his cheek. She blushed when she caught me looking in the rear view mirror.

 

"In English class..." I began as I pulled the door shut next to me. I remember very clearly that she had her hair in an updo, which was not a rare sight since she got together with Nick, and she was also wearing a beautiful tint of lipstick but underneath her thick coat, I peeked a hooverette. The yellow one she always wore at home. 

 

As I continued on about my day, and about how Mrs. Kelly had found a rat some boys had put in her teaching drawer, I started to notice that Nick was also whispering something to my mother. Something I could not quite hear.

 

"Ma? Are you listening?" I asked.

 

She looked distracted, like she was in the in-between. At the edge of it when the sunsets became grey and when English really consisted more of jumbled words than anything that made sense at all. "Yes, Reese, I am." 

 

"Then what was I talking about?" I challenged. My mother turned back to look at me, "Alright, I wasn't listening. Would you like to repeat what you were trying to tell me?" 

 

"No," I growled back grumpily and crossed my hands across my chest. I wish I wasn't angry with my mother that day, then maybe all would've been different. My primal mind had been filled with too many cruel thoughts to think straight at all.

 

We stopped at a traffic light and the tension in the car could be cut straight through with a knife. "Esther– no this isn't the right time," Nick had tried to stop my mother but she was going to say it anyway. Her big mouth couldn't keep shut.

 

" _ Reese _ , Nick is going to be your new father." 

 

" _ Ma _ ?" I shrieked. The motor was suddenly the loudest thing in the car. I watched Nick put his face on the steering wheel and there was a honk behind us when the light turned green.

 

"I am going to marry him, Reese. And it means we can move into his house in Long Island, wouldn't that be nice?" 

 

"I like New Jersey," I shook in my seat. I wanted to turn into a tornado and sweep the whole of earth up, but anger stilled me. "Why must you marry him? Don't you love Dad anymore?" 

 

"Why do you ask questions like these?"

 

My fingers were curling tightly into my skirt, crumpling it drastically. "Mother, why?" 

 

"I don't know if I can answer that," she replied carelessly. 

 

I caught a reflection of myself in the car window amidst the traffic that rolled outside. I was as red as a tomato. I was hunched over, all thoughts acid-like. All words, even more. "I don't want to move. Dad is here." 

 

"Then you tell me what you'd like to do, huh? Reese? Would you like to stay here? In New Jersey alone? Your father is dead. A headstone with an empty coffin isn't going to keep you safe. Would you still like to stay here?" 

 

I was so angry no words could convince me otherwise.

 

"Even without me?" she asked. She was facing me now, half her body was between the seats and her hand was on the stockings on my tiny legs. 

 

I bit on my lip and thought for a while. Then dead in the eye, because I only saw red, and because who made good decisions at seven? I told her, "Yes, Ma. Even without you." 

 

She looked at me, and her face twitched. With anger? With disgust? With regret? I never found out because that was the end. I'd expected her to fight me, to tell me that I needed her but there was no more talk about it. The rest of the car ride was silent, all the way to Long Island where Nick stayed and I think that was the last time I visited before my mother had become pregnant and the marriage became inevitable. 

 

Then I was forgotten, like the easy game.

 

I quickly wiped my tears from my eyes before Carol caught them and watched lazily from my bed as she packed and unpacked her suitcase before going into the lavatory to change. I couldn't tell if she was comfortable with me or if she had simply forgotten that I was there but she did not close the door thoroughly as she slipped into the bathroom. Through the ajar door, I spied a muscular back that looked just like a dancer's. She blew her hair with the dryer near the sink, pulling a brush through her the wispy strands. Soon, it fell into a style I was familiar with. 

 

"What are you staring at?" Carol asked without looking.

 

"No–Nothing," turning my gaze away for a split second. "How did you grow up?" I blurted suddenly, it surprised me, this question.

 

Carol looked at me through the mirror and she paused regally, like a mannequin in Frankenberg's. She went back to her hair brushing and I seemed forgotten.  I found her silence to be so different from anything I had interacted before. Richard and I never had something like this. I found myself often startled by his loudness and his willingness to jump into awkward pauses without thought, offering some senseless words for the gaps we couldn't fill. 

 

"Privileged," she offered after many beats. She was unruffled. 

 

I flinched a little at the defiance in her voice. "Worlds apart from mine," I told her. She didn't seem to care but I knew she was listening. "I once knew someone like you. She… was about my age when I met her. She must be your age now, I think." 

 

Carol went back to her routine of putting powder on her face. A brush here and there, I grew mesmerized by her hand motions. She smiled at me through the mirror, although her gaze wasn't quite at me. Like she was deep in thought. "What was she like?" she asked.

 

I shook my head and exhaled lightly, almost inaudibly, "I've never met her." 

 

"Would you–" she asked, "Would you like to meet her?" 

 

I toyed with that thought. "No," I finally said, "I don't think I would. Because then everything I had pictured about her would have been a dusty dream." 

 

"And it had been the reality for a very long time, is that so?" she threw me an unwavering glance, "I get that." 

 

"Do you?" I questioned. 

 

Carol tilted her head and when she was about to–  _ BAM!–  _ the door opened with a loud slam. "Carol! For the love of god I've been looking everywhere for you." A woman stormed into the room as Carol hurried out into the bedroom. The woman had her head down and her clothes drenched. The rain was still outside and her sloggy shoes had brought the mud from the river bank into Carol's room. But Carol remained unworried about this woman, she must know her very well, for a curve began to form on her lips. 

 

" _ Jesus _ , Abby– Therese, this is the most prodigious Abigail Gerhard," she pulled the flustered woman upright next to her, "You might have seen her fainting over the tiny speck of blood the other day. Abby, Therese Belivet, as you have met her... I just was talking–"

 

"Oh– I didn't realize you have a guest,” the browned haired woman muttered but otherwise did not care. She was wearing a brown plaid suit that contrasted her pale skin, but otherwise complimented her dark features. As the light hit her face, I saw her plain as day, like meeting Carol for the first time in Helena’s room. I staggered backward, causing Carol to reach out to steady me. "I'm Carol's best friend, hello." Abby reached her hand out towards me.  

 

I saw the arrogant triumph shine in her eyes, spelling  _ Gotcha!  _ And my jaw was barely hanging onto the rest of my face and my eyes. Never before had I thought time could pass this slowly. But her voice echoing inside and outside of me now. Abigail Gerhard _. _ She glided across the room and stole mischievous glances at Carol. “You’re her. The entomologist,” I said.

 

“ _ An _ entomologist,” Carol corrected, “Not a very good one, in fact. They only need her in on the holidays.”

 

The women cackled. She took my hand and shook it in a casual fashion. "And I've heard all about you from Carol. Abigail, but it is really Abby. If you insist, however..." she walked back over to Carol in steps that looked like they belonged to a baton twirler of decades, a marching quality in the stiffness. The mischievous glint in her eyes that disappeared when she noticed the blue too glossy. "Nitwit, were you just crying?"

 

"Oh," Carol looked back down, almost embarrassed by the revelation, "Yes– Yes, I actually was… I was telling Therese about…" She trailed off lightly and let the name linger at the tip of her tongue. Abby sidled up to Carol almost immediately, grabbing her by the waist, undeterred by my presence. "But all okay now?" Abby asked.

 

"Yes, Therese here made me feel much better, didn't you?" she paused and threw a playful glance at me. I blushed lightly, feeling out of place with Abby's presence so strong. 

 

"Good for you," Abby nodded towards me, "You have a knack of doing th–"

 

The shared a brief but telling glance, their thoughts all intertwined into a single insignificant word. "No," Carol whispered under her breath. I had barely caught it but I was sure it was not just a figment of my paranoia. 

 

I walked backwards slowly until I could feel the mattress pressing behind my knees. "Don't what?" I wanted to challenge, but who dared poke the bear? So instead, I let it settle into negligible white noise. 

 

Abby was stroking Carol's hand the way Richard stroked mine. "I think I know you–" I began again.

 

Abby snorted and Carol giggled like a child. "As an entomologist?  _ The entomologist _ ? Jesus, what has that Sister Alicia been feeding you that you've got such a strong impression of me."

 

"I know you from–"

 

"From the time you fell in the water, yes– Yes, Helena and you and the stone. God, that was years ago, wasn't it? You look very much the same, I must say. What a wretched girl, that Helana was, wasn't she? No manners at all! None at all!" 

 

"Sounds like you,  _ ding dong _ ," Carol chimed in, hitting Abby in the shoulder. The way Carol had said it was so out of character to me, it was like she lived a whole other life that was unreachable to me. 

 

"Yes! I've got no manners. None at all," Abby exclaimed back at Carol and the two women seemed lost in their other world. I felt tremendously jealous all of a sudden. The way Abby could cut me off impenitently– the confidence she exuberates in itself was all but irksome and maddening, yet fascinating, which was probably what made her stand out. 

 

I understood now what Carol meant by dreams and reality. It was ruined now. Abby was nothing like I had dreamt she would be. Could it be that meeting someone, after those many years of dreaming of what they could be, only a disaster right from its set up? There was no getaway car waiting for us, no ephemeral mysteriousness. Abby, who was run down with age and wisdom, smile lines didn't look anything like I had remembered her as– the glowing godlike woman by the edge of my bed. The women that held me. The hand I received now was about as cold as a dead body and Abby was just about as plain as the nose on one's face. A little funny crooked one, at best.

 

As their laughter subsided, I found myself looking at Abby and not at Carol, though she seemed less than pleased at my sudden gaze. "Anyway," Abby looked back at Carol, "Before I forget, old Harge is here for you. Showed up at my house uninvited–"

 

"Oh, Hargess. Why is he here this time? Chase him away like you did last time, won't you? I am supposed to be in New York," she offered the latter sentence in my direction like it meant anything at all, "I often wonder if he has someone following me." 

 

"Carol, perhaps you should see him." 

 

"Alright, if you think that is so," Carol resigned. 

 

"Come on, then," Abby began to usher Carol out of the room, "Therese, you coming or what?"

 

"Yes," I smiled and walked faster to join them. When Abby looked back, she had a smile of bemusement on her face, as though she animated my every action. It entertained her beyond what I could imagine myself. 

 

They held each other by their arms, like roots 

 

Not further down the river, where it was at its shallowest and narrowest point, there was actually a small stone path that lead across to Abby's house. Her estate was bigger than I thought it was and in the distance, I could see another similar house, grey bricks, and navy peaks. 

 

"That's where the rest of the family stays," Abby announced when she saw me looking, "This is where I've stayed since I returned from England."

 

"London is beautiful," I chirped.

 

"You've been?" Carol asked.

 

"Well… I've only seen pictures," I said, "Richard has been there a couple of times. All with the company he works at." 

 

"Would you like to go?" Carol asked.

 

"Richard asked for us to go to France later in February. I don't think I will go." 

 

Abby snorted again and Carol elbowed her in the gut. "Why not? If you think it is beautiful, anyway. It doesn't cost very much to go. Less than a couple hundred. If by boat, of course," Abby tittered and Carol wrestled her lightly.

 

Carol looked ashamed for her friend, "Abby doesn't know the value of money. Or the value of anything, in fact. I'm sure you've heard of the Gerhards." 

 

"Yes, they own the house," I said. I also knew that they owned  _ Gerhard & Co., _ the land developing company but chose not to say more. 

 

"Yes, that's right," Carol chuckled, then added, "They're in construction. The planning part; Property developers. They planned the Metropolitan Museum." 

 

"From scratch," Abby added and burst out into another snigger, in which Carol joined with a  light chuckle. I imagined Abby in a construction helmet and too, had to stifle a laughter. I thought of Abby who did nothing on ordinary days. How could such a plain uninspiring person have come from such affluent background? 

 

Before more could be said, our short walk had come to an end. The backdoor groaned when Abby yanked it open. The wet kitchen welcomed us with the smell of something cooking. "Jillian," Abby greeted as we swept past the housekeeper. Harge must've heard us when we were coming in and he had come, looking like death, to receive us with the four worry wrinkles on his forehead. "I thought you weren't going to come," Harge said. His voice was robotic, monotonous and had deeply resonant pitch to it. 

 

His dark hair was thick and woven, it sat still on his head, like a hat would in its place. He looked troubled. "Oh,  _ Harge _ , you think of me too cold. Therese," Carol called over her shoulder at me, taking my hand and pulling me forward, she presented, "This is Hargess Aird. My hus– Ex– Rindy's father." 

 

"Therese Belivet," I introduced. This was the most number of new people I have met on the same day since Richard introduced me all those years back to his friends.

 

He served a nod in my direction but his eyes offered only a fleeting glance. By his body language, I could tell that he was urging for Abby and me to leave him to his wife. His ex-wife. Abby saw the same.

 

"Therese is a friend of Carol's. A friend of mine, in fact. I've known her since she was little." Abby said in what I thought looked like an effort to force Harge to admit that he wanted Carol alone. There was a smirk on her lips; it was these little battles that brought joy to Abby. 

 

"Abby, if you could," he gestured toward the stairs. 

 

I looked at Abby, then at Harge. "Come on Therese, let's go up so that they may have some peace," she called out for me and when I was close enough, gripped me tightly by the wrist like I was a little child in the mall. "May I remind you that this is _ my _ house," Abby warned Harge. For what, I did not know. 

 

When we reached the top of the stairs, we heard a small thump, presumably Harge sitting down somewhere. "Come here," Abby urged me over to a small room by the stairs. "What would you like to do while we wait?" 

 

"There's nothing–"

 

"Photos. I think I've got a few of you," Abby acquiesced. 

 

"Me?" I was stunned into silence. I followed her as she dug through dusty old boxes in the room that could pass off as a library or an office. "Ah!" she pulled out two binders, both yellow from age. "Come now, why are you so far away from me?" 

 

I moved closer. "I'm sorry," I said, "For not recognizing you earlier."

 

"That's a silly thought," she paused her actions and told me off. "Look, here, Carol," she pointed at a young blonde who looked pale as a vampire. Her eyebrows were translucent against her alabaster skin. The black and white film didn't do her complexion any good. She looked awfully like a ghost. 

 

"And this?" I put my finger on a girl taller than Carol. 

 

"Yours truly," Abby gave me a toothy smile. The girl did look like Abby. The fringe of her pageboy cut covered brown eyes but her smile and attitude were the same, straight, nonchalant and immensely free. "This was at my birthday party. And this," she pointed to the other page, "Is Carol's first ever ballet concert." 

 

A girl was twirling in a plain black leotard. 

 

“How did you meet?”

 

“Carol and I?” She asked rhetorically, “We’ve known each other since we were born. Family friends of sorts. But we really met at my birthday party. She was six and I was eight and I pushed her right down the little hill! Sent her tumbling down for her life,” Abby concluded. 

 

“She’s the childhood friend you mentioned in the letter?” I asked. 

 

Abby raised her eyebrow on one side. “My dear, you still have the letter with you? Or at least you hold it in your heart. You hold onto things– Yes. You remind me of both her and I. Something else for you to hold on now. This right here," she put the other binder atop the current one, "Here, this is you. And another one, here." Two photos of me, each a year apart.

 

"Where did you get all this?" I asked, sweeping my thumb over the photo. It was a school photo I had taken many years ago. Each page held each year I was there. Then at the end, there was me in a beige collared dress. Next to me were Sister Alicia and a couple of the other girls. 

 

"Courtesy of Sister Alicia. She keeps them all here in this space… All to be forgotten with time. I’ve got a file for each girl that’s been through the Home. Keep this with you," Abby pushed the open album into my hands. 

 

She continued marveling at the photos. "This is my old coat. And this," she pointed at another, "This right here is Carol's."

 

"You're kidding?" I asked, "I still have this coat." 

 

"I'll be damned if I do joke about these things. Hey, since you do remember the letter; I told you I was going to send you clothes, wasn't I? Well most of the stuff I got from the department store but there were just these few coats Carol and I couldn't get over."

 

"But I only got this one when I was fifteen. You'd sent me clothes only once after the incident, I think. I thought some charity gave me these," I gestured to the navy blue coat. It still sat at the back of my closet, waiting to see the rays of sunlight again. 

 

"Oh–" Abby looked lost for words. The first time she had her tongue tied since I met her. "I actually gave Sister Alicia a garage full of old clothes so I don't know who got what and when. Luck was on your side. The coat was really good, wasn't it? It’s old but it’s good. I’ve had mine for the better part of a decade. Actually now since we've met again, why don't we bring you to the tailors? Get you some real clothes." 

 

" _ We _ ?" 

 

"Carol and I, of course," she said.

 

"I–"

 

"Abby? He's gone," Carol gave a throaty shout from downstairs. Her voice was a little shaky. Abby gave me a look, then hurried down, her feet pattering against the wooden stairs.

 

By the time I was within earshot from them, they had already been speaking in hushed whispers for quite a few sentences. Abby's back was facing me so it meant Carol was looking directly at me. I watched her blue eyes speak worry as they ran through everything Harge had probably just told her.

 

I dazed off into another one of my fashionable dreams. 

 

When they were done, I found one side of my body leaning against the large wooden frame watching intently. Carol and Abby hug each other near the car. "Well… I'm off to San Diego since it seems like my nitwit's going to have company over Christmas. Go take the drive around the estate. Clear your head," she told Carol, then at me, she spoke loudly from the car, "It's very nice to meet you again, Therese. Make sure Carol brings you to that tailor I mentioned. Tata." 

 

Carol hummed a tune in her throat and busied herself with straightening her dress. "The tailor?" she asked.

 

"Yes, she was just telling me about how some of your old coats were now with me."

 

"The world just keeps getting smaller..." Carol pondered again, then, while her gaze was on the wall, though she had a small transient smile that disappeared as quick as light. She asked softly, "Would you like to come with me for a drive?"

 

"I have nowhere else to be," I said.

 

Before long, the rain had ceased into fuzzy drops that merged into the steam the grass was letting off and we found ourselves in her car, speeding down the straight country lane that ran down and up tiny hills. The view of withered grass was quite a pathetic site but calming all at once. "This piece of land, the Gerhards own it all. All 800 acres of it, including the lake." 

 

"The lake?" I wondered, "There is a lake?"

 

"Yes, don't tell me you've never seen it. We just crossed it. You fell in it once. It's the one that runs right through both houses." 

 

"Isn't that a river?" 

 

Carol chortled, "No, no. It's a lake. A small isolated one, really, if you ever bothered to explore further down, you would've found where it ended. No pots beneath rainbows here." 

 

Lost, I could only nod. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? About Abby being your friend."

 

Carol looked at me with a taut smile. "Is she any good to talk about? I doubt so. Besides, I had barely met you first for a couple of days. And there was no good time. But let's not talk about her now. I can tell you much more in the future..." she trailed off into deep thought.

 

"Carol?" I touched her hand.

 

"Sorry– Sorry, I just– My mind these days. I wanted to ask you after Harge left if you'd come with me tomorrow?" Carol said while sweeping her fringe behind her ear. She continued driving but her gloved hands were sweeping up and down the steering.

 

"Where?" I asked.

 

Hazy blue eyes came into focus. And she pulled the car to a slow halt my the road, degloved and pulled the crank. "Harge has asked for me to be back east. New York. I don't think it is an unreasonable request so I will go," she said, "Where Rindy is..." 

 

I fidgeted in my seat by the window and wondered how it would be impossible to see Rindy without falling apart myself. "Carol–" I said as though the decision was such a hard one, "I don't know your family. As you said, I  _ barely  _ even know you." 

 

She paused, dejected. Then, looked at me again with this fire in her eyes. "What are we waiting for then?" She straightened out her hand apprehensively toward me. I stared at the golden ring on her fourth finger and the red manicure against her pale skin. Her hand was trembling lightly as I took it in my own.

 

I felt very young all of a sudden and I began to think of all the possible things that could come with knowing Carol. The possibility of disappointments or the possibility of regrets. If I could just admire her like I could a doll, away and a glass between us, wouldn't that be great? But I also thought about the other things that became possible. Like the way she looked at sunsets, and her thoughts of this book, or that book. And also  _ Carol _ . Just knowing Carol would be an otherworldly possibility in itself. 

 

I didn't have to think very much longer after she offered. 

 

I leapt into her arms. 

 

_ 02.13.1937 I could hear that she was on the verge of crying red tears and the warm patch on my knee where her hand was felt abandoned. Her answer rang in my ears and I squeezed my own eyes shut, wondering when the next day would come. The next day came, and she was gone. I wish I could’ve stopped my dangerous thoughts. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks... I believe. Meanwhile, leave your wonderful comments below!


	8. After the Glitter Fades: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!

_Most of the time, when the sky is still a purple bruise, I look out the window and wonder what it would be like to be alive in another lifetime. I see her in the distance and I see her thoughts all bold and messy. She wonders if she too, would've let you go in another lifetime._

 

You know the feeling when time just flies by and there's nothing you can do to but to stand back and watch everything just whoosh past before you even get a chance to grab it? If you asked me yesterday if the next few weeks of my life were going to pass this quickly, I would've said no.

 

But the city would not slow down.  

 

The air was damp when we left for New York a day later than we had intended to. We were going to stop by my regular church but first the florists; "It's here, stop," I pointed out at the dark street. Carol's car pulled up outside of the floral shop. "I need chrysanthemums and daisies."

 

"And why would you need that?" Carol

 

"Chrysanthemums for protection," I grimaced, "One for the altar."

 

"The other one?"

 

"Daisies, for health for–"

 

"For Rindy," she hummed in understanding.

 

As we pass the stack of baskets, I took them out, passing it between my hands and into hers. She took another one for herself. The floral section was dull due to the winter. My hands caressed a bud that didn't get to bloom. The frown on my face grew, as did Carol’s. "These will have to do," I said.

 

The thunder cracked like a whip outside and I flinched slightly at the loud noise.

 

“Therese?” Carol turned and her hand gripped onto my arm tightly. She hadn't seen me flinch but she felt it, as she did with everything else. I blinked a couple of times but didn't reply. How rude it was of me but my tongue was plastered to the roof of my mouth, unmoving.

 

I looked down at her grip on my arm before turning back to grab the chrysanthemums by their necks, shoving the plain flowers into a reusable bag she had brought from her car. The folded petals made a crumpling noise. I didn't dare look at Carol for the rest of the journey to the church.

 

The church was a simple one. It was the one I had been to since I had moved here, even though it wasn't very often. Richard was not religious, neither were Danny and Phil. I hadn't many friends in church but I knew the church's Father personally, and he too, knew of me and my troubled family.

 

What I liked about this chapel was the skylight that allowed the moon to reflect on stained glass. It came through the glass like a sharp arrow, the water fountain near the altar glimmering in it. I closed my eyes as I settled into my seat, listening to the sound of Carol's heels against granite, each step a cool, calming beat in my head.

 

When I come to church, I see my mother in her bright yellow dress and my father in his smart suits, all of them hands out, calling me from the front row. I am in my Sunday clothes and suddenly I am five again. I wondered what Carol saw where there were rows of rotted wood and chipped glass for windows, where the walls were all worn down. I wondered what she saw.

 

"Therese, is something wrong? You've been awfully quiet tonight," Carol whispered as she came to sit by me on the pew. Taking a deep breath, I inhaled her presence. I shook my head, not knowing personally what was wrong but my mind was lit with a flurry of thoughts, all minced and mushed I wasn't sure if I could think straight anymore. "Do you–" Carol stopped as abruptly as she started. I buried my head in the cusp of my palms. "I have no clout with God." she finally said after two beats.

 

"Everyone has a clout with God. He sees, hears and feels everything."

 

"God–" she chuckled and crossed her legs, heel touching my cardigan. "Is he really here right now?"

 

I turned back and gave her a wavering smile. "A church is but a cage of faith. He is in us. At least I think it that way."

 

"You think it that way..." She let out a small strangled noise in her throat. "Rindy's got an unfortunate bout of some respiratory infection from the tubes. I don't know if I am glad or not but it is the most reactive she has been since the… Well, accident."

 

I got down on my knees against the pew and rested both elbows against the wood in front of me and brought my hand to cross my chest. "Dear God, we come with a prayer for miracles. For prayers, Rindy Aird be better tomorrow and fewer worries in the mind of her mother. Amen."

 

Carol laughed softly and smile whirly at me, "That– That was very nice of you."

 

"Only miracles," My eyes glinted in the moonlight.

 

I looked into the distance at the alabaster effigy that stood by the altar, a gatekeeper, a guardian. Many people had different thoughts about what God was, that's why there are so many different translations of the Bible. The way I saw it, if my prayer was sincere, my thoughts pure, miracles would happen.

 

We were silent again the rest of the way home. I stole glances at Carol as the street lights cast looming shadows onto her figure. Her blue eyes were trained forward, like driving required too much attention from her. My tongue swung about in a sacred dance of words that would never see the light of day.

 

"What are you thinking?" Carol asked, as though she saw right through me.

 

"Not much, just about Rindy," I breathed softly.

 

"Oh?" she sounded presently surprised, she even turned to look at me. I gazed back silently. It was like she had so many things she wanted to say to me.

 

"Do you want me to follow you up?" her voice filled the air alas as the car engine stopped whining.

 

"No, I can go up myself," I gestured to my apartment opposite hers. But just as I was about to walk off, a man whistled at us as he walked past.

 

Swiftly, her arms wrapped so tightly around mine I was sure there would be bruises tomorrow. "Let me walk you up, it's too late for a girl to be alone," a protective aura formed around her all of a sudden and she was marching me across the street and into the smallest door opposite.

 

Carol's solid hook over my arm continued as she hauled me up the stairs like I was dead meat. "Tomorrow we will see Rindy," she reminded as we reached my door. She let go.

 

"Tomorrow," I repeated, the clicks of the door echoed into the darkness.

 

Carol raised her head up in a way that when she looked at me, her nose was pointing right down at me. "That's that. Goodnight, Therese."

 

"Goodnight Carol." There was another click, and I knew she was gone.

 

My eyes were glued on the spot where the apartment's front foyer led. She appeared in a few moments, skipping across the road and into the brownstone.

 

Even though with heavy eyelids, I manage to rummage around my teaching bag for the new book I had chosen to teach in class. Although it was meant for the middle school children, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ , was a magnificent read. I decided it was what Rindy was going to get. Maybe Carol would read it to her when she was free.  

 

Brown paper was the only thing I could find to wrap the gift in, and thus, left in unwrapped instead, shoving it carelessly into my tomorrow bag. I crawled over to my bed by the window.

 

As I lain in bed, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. I thought about Carol and her life… About how unfairly blessed she was to have been so wealthy, so young. To never have to work for anything in her life, to have the pressure taken off of amounting to anything at all. Carol was _Carol_. That was it. She was less special than I had imagined her to be, yet her eyes were so blue that night and they carried around a weight of grief so heavy I thought again, how unlucky to have been born into a fate like this. To have, yet to want– to want, to want, to want all the things she couldn't have– all these things that money couldn't buy. To have to want happiness. To have to want her daughter's wellness restored. And so when I looked at Carol again, she was dealing with the devil– Another day for her daughter.

 

The lights to her bedroom switched off and my eyes slowly fluttered close–

 

_Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring._

 

I strained my eyes at the light coming through the window. The sun was breaking into a run from the horizon.

 

"Therese Belivet!" My landlady's shrieky voice reached my ears. I groaned and rose slowly from my bed, looking bewildered and wildy unawake at the same time. "THERESE BELIVET! PHONE!" I was shocked out of bed and into my bedside slippers. The footsteps marched off before I could even get out of the front door.

 

The sky was still in peachy glows and the streets outside were still silent from children. My hand wrapped my robe tighter around myself as I tiptoed into the stairwell and down into the hallway.

 

"Hello?" My raspy voice spoke into the receiver.

 

"Therese, did I wake you?" Carol's voice came through.

 

"No, no, you did not," I yawned.

 

"You lie," I could hear her smile on the other end of the line, "So accept my apology. The doctors want Harge and I at the hospital now. Do you think you can get ready in ten? Otherwise, I'm afraid I have to leave you."

 

"Ten minutes? I– Yes."

 

"You're a doll. I'll see you in ten outside."

 

I flew to get ready for Carol, dressing in a beige collared long-sleeved I tucked into my plaid skirt that reached up to my mid calves. I wondered what it was that seemed to urgent. Was Rindy in danger? Could it be– No it couldn't.

 

_Ring ring, ring ring._

 

"Hello? Carol?" I answered the phone again.

 

"Carol, who? It's me, Terry! You're back. Why didn't you tell me you were back!"

 

I groaned. "Richard… Oh, look this is such a bad time to call–"

 

"Oh? Where are you off to? It's Christmas and I was like, heck, I'm going to call ya' to wish ya' Merry Christmas, but I was like, wait a minute, Terry' ain't home. Then you answered and I wanted to say bless me! How have you been doin', huh? I wrote to you but you never replied."

 

"I didn't receive any– Look, Richard," I leaned over to my coat that was hanging off the railings of the lobby stairs, "This is really– Look, I'll call you later when I'm home, I really have got to go now. Please?"

 

"Oh, that's fine, Terry, just call me back later?"

 

"Of course," I assured, "I'll call you again in the evening."

 

"I'll be looking forward!"

 

_Click._

 

I shook my head and rushed out of the swinging doors.

 

"Hey," Carol greeted me from the wound down car window as I emerged, tripping over a step.

 

"Be more careful!" she smiled as I stepped into the car, pulling the scarf from around my neck and threw it in the back of the car, "I didn't get you anything fancy for Christmas but I saw that your scarf was a bit– Well, worn. So, something practical." She passed me a neatly wrapped parcel. "Merry you," Carol cheered lightly as the house slowly disappeared into the new york horizon.

 

"Merry Christmas– Oh, Carol," I frowned, "You shouldn't have. When did you get this?"

 

"The few days I went back to town, after Abby's incident."

 

The wrapped crackled against my palm as Carol began to drive us towards the hospital, "Oh, that's– Carol, it's beautiful." I pulled out a gray cashmere scarf, the good stuff. "Carol, this must've been so–"

 

"It's worth what it's worth," Carol said.

 

"Well... I– I got Rindy something," I fumbled, pulling the book from my bag.

 

"And you thought of my daughter and not me?" Carol gasped and took offense, "This is my life now. Someone prettier, someone younger. I guess this is what they mean by passing on the baton," she lamented in a light laugh.  

 

"It's not from my old collection," I felt the need to add, "I had a spare one lying around. The fifth graders are doing it for their English text. You can read it to her, give her a head start for when she– When she heads back to school."

 

Carol smiled.

 

Before long, the red brick building could be seen creeping closer and closer to us. The car rolled on shaky, mirroring both of our emotions.

 

The Bellevue Children's Hospital was the first of its kind in the city. It was what we called a state of the art, at that time. The colorful walls were new to me, for I had never seen a hospital quite like this. But even with the smell of butterflies and spring, it could not mask the underlying air that was crisp of stifling antiseptic, mostly alcoholic in nature. Then there was that god awful stench of fear that seeped into my pores.

 

The elevator chimed as we clambered out onto the sixth floor, where Rindy was. Harge was already standing outside of the private room talking to the doctor and Carol looked haunted all of a sudden.

 

"Harge..." Carol greeted. Her husband gave me another one off, head to toe, turning his attention back to Carol in two seconds. "I'm sorry I'm late. What's it that was this urgent?" Carol gestured for me to proceed in if I wanted to.

 

I remained apprehensive.

 

Harge and the doctor continued to look at me. "Therese, why don't you go in and wait?" Carol shot me a look when she saw me still outside, then she was off nodding again at what the doctor was saying. From here, I could see Rindy through the small glass window in the door.

 

To say that I was let down would not be right. But the tubes in Rindy's arms were far less frightening than I had imagined it to be. But there she was, a tiny girl the size of the girls in my first-grade class, so small a frame she barely took up half the bed. She was bundled up in a home-stitched quilt, a similar one Carol had covered me with the first time we had met.

 

I walked in and stood in the shadows.

 

Her breathing was regular and unstrained, although the machine next to her seemed to be the one that was working overtime. Without tubes and all, she might've been mistaken for a sleeping child but her skin was an unsightly shade of gray, the color of the moon at night.

 

My light steps filled the quiet room and I dragged a chair close to the side of the bed. "Hey, you must be Rindy," I pretend she is one of my girls in class, "I'm Miss Belivet. It's very nice to meet you. Your mother talks about you often."

 

The beeping answered.

 

"I think you've been asleep for a very long time now but I am sure someone has told you it is Christmas today. And I got you this book called _Alice's Adventures._ " Pause. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

 

The pages ruffled under my fingertips but I kept my eyes on Rindy. “I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then," I read out from the book at hand. "This is the story of Alice’s dream, one hot summer day long ago. A dream of Wonderland, where the White Rabbit wears gloves […] It’s all very strange, but then, anything can happen in a dream world."

 

" _Lewis Carroll_ ," Harge said as he entered the room quietly, "That's a bold choice. Bogus read."

 

"One is never too young to _know_ books. You read, sir?" I asked, then felt dumb. Of course, this worldly man read. What was he otherwise, dirt from the trenches?

 

He laughed it off, then looked at Carol to introduce us. "Oh, don't look at me like that," Carol sat up straighter in her armchair, "Therese, Harge, I'm sure you both remember each other. From Abby's house," Carol had to whisper harshly to remind Harge of his manners.

 

"Of course, of course..." He trailed. His mind was still searching for the familiarity in my face but whether it did or not, he gave me another worried smile. The corners of his mouth drooping, yet his lips smacked together in parallel lines. "I suppose, it's nice to meet you Miss Belivet."

 

"Oh," I blushed at his formality, "Please. Just call me Therese."

 

"You're good with children?" He asked.

 

I smiled and nodded politely, "Oh– Please, no..."

 

Carol piped, "Therese, is a teacher. She would've been Rindy's teacher. Had she gone to the progressive school I had chosen instead of that _awful_ prep school your mother chose."

 

Hargess' mind seemed to have to work overtime again and his face froze over in deep thought, "That school. Yes, of course."

 

"But now, I'm afraid it is all impossible."

 

"Don't say things like that, Carol," Harge suddenly grew stern. He offered his wife a pained look but Carol looked away. "Miss Belivet… Since you are a teacher… Would you mind just teaching Rindy, here?" Harge pointed out.

 

Carol slumped into an armchair. "Harge… Are you out of your mind? How on earth is Rindy..."

 

"The doctor just said that someone who is– Is in Rindy's condition, reading and speaking to them makes them better, faster."

 

"But please, for god sake. Find someone else. Don't trouble Therese. She has a job to get back to the coming week. Therese, you would mind, wouldn't–"

 

"Of course not. It would be my pleasure. I can drop anytime now, if you want me to."

 

"What about your work?" Carol asked.

 

"I can come after. I don't end late other than Wednesdays for the club. I can drop by at 4 pm. I read somewhere too, that it is good to talk to– Rindy. It's good. It stimulates the mind. If I can be of any help at all..."

 

Carol narrowed her eyes at me. Pause. "Fine. But we will have to settle on a payment system–"

 

"Oh, that won't be necessary–" I started by was cut off by Harge's laugh.

 

The man sniggered, "Of course, I'll have the money wired to you by the New Year but right now I think I have to go."

 

"Mmm." Carol hummed but Harge took one look at Carol's suckerpunch face and laughed aloud again. Carol added, "Harge, please don't gloat."

 

But the burly man laughed on even in the hallway.

 

"Sorry about that," Carol apologized, walking towards me this time, settling in a chair an arm's length from the bed. "Harge is just… Drunk, probably. I've never seen him so happy in a while. Maybe it was what the doctor had told us."

 

"Yea?" I smiled, "What did the doctor say?"

 

"Well, firstly he said he thought that Rindy's condition has stabilized a bit but that pesky infection she's got in her lungs just doesn't seem to want to go away."

 

"Mmhm."

 

"Secondly,' she smiled to herself, "Not so good news but they are going to extubate her. So that's to remove the tube? The tube that's in her mouth. They think it's what's giving her the infection." The side of her lips drooped. "But every procedure comes with its risks. They're afraid when they extubate she might not breathe right again and she'll turn blue very fast. Too fast. You remember how I said bad things always happen too fast for you to stop them?"

 

"I do."

 

"Yes… Life is full of surprises," Carol sounded defeated.

 

"But you're going to try," I asked.

 

"Well… To be frank, I wasn't so sure. But Harge wants to do it. And I want what's best for Rindy. So does he. We're the same that way."

 

She looked far in thought, recounting a memory of their honeymoon and all the better days that came before. "Carol, can I ask you something?"

 

"You don't have to ask me if you can ask me things. Therese, please. We are beyond that," Carol furrowed her brows and looked bemused.

 

I smiled sheepishly. "Why do you and Harge still wear–"

 

"Our rings?"

 

"Yes, how did you–"

 

"I get that a lot. Even Abby asks me that. Every time I see her she asks me the same thing, it's like a running joke now."

 

I nodded at her words.

 

"I think it's a symbol. Not necessarily of love. You know, these weren't our wedding bands, no. Mine was a glorious rare stone of sorts but Abby always jokes that– and I'm afraid– that someone might chop my finger off if I wear. Wouldn't that be awful? To live without a fourth finger. God awful."

 

I frowned and looked at her twist the golden band around her finger.

 

"So, it's a symbol of sorts, I was saying. Hargess' parents gave these to us when, uh, when Rindy was born. I thought it was awful– the gold– I mean. How damn traditional. But now… Now it's different. And... I'm a creature of habit," Carol chuckled, "I always go to the same place for lunch, order the same thing. Shop at the same floor on Frankenberg's and the same boutique on fifth. I stay in the same hotel when traveling. Same room, same company, same friends. Same everything."

 

Then, added with dismissal, "It will be very easy to assassinate me."

 

"Who's going to assassinate you?" I gasped.

 

"God, so many people."

 

We laughed. And I wished Carol would be this happy every day.

 

_ “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?” “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat. _

_ “I don’t much care where—” said Alice. “Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on the chapter? ALL comments/kudos are appreciated, always. Thanks for the support y'all!


	9. After the Glitter Fades: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must first apologize that this has been one hell of a wait! I kinda lost touch with this story and I am hoping that you will enjoy this. Happy reading!

_ “—so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation.  _

_ “Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk long enough.” _

 

The furious flipping of paper against itself stopped me mid-page and I set the book down on the bed next to Rindy. Carol was perched by the side of the room, head hung low on a sofa. Her hair was messy, ruffled by her own anxiety.

 

"Dearest, what's the date today?" she asked, tilting her brand new reading glasses onto her head as she squinted to write something down in her planner. "I can't– I can't find the date!" 

 

"It's New Years… The last time I checked it would be the first of January." 

 

Carol moaned and rolled her eyes, tossing the planner to the side of the room. I stood up from the chair next to Rindy's bed and went forth to pick it up. "What's wrong?" 

 

"My old planner doesn't have that date." 

 

"I can see why," I passed the small leather note back to her outstretched hands.

 

"Why?" 

 

"To start off, this," I pointed at the book, "is last year's notebook." 

 

Carol sighed deeply, "Right," slumping back into her armchair, "To think so many things can just change in a day. One moment you're useful, the next you're just waiting to be thrown away." 

 

"What's this about?" I fussed, dragging my chair closer to Carol this time, "Is this about Rindy? It is today, isn't it? The procedure.soughteked her blue eyes but they wouldn't focus on me. I could see her mind everywhere; wrapped around worries, pitchforked by anger. 

 

"Y-es," she exhaled shakily, "I don't know– I don't know what is making me so afraid." 

 

"It's going to be fine, Carol. Don't you think too much," I didn't know what else to say so I gave a reassuring squeeze on Carol's shoulder. "Thank you," she said as she gave an equally tight squeeze. Her boney fingers were one of a kind. 

 

Harge entered the room like a man, loud and not unnoticed. Our sweeping gaze greeted him. "What did the doctor say about bringing her home?" Carol started first, then I realized that he had been the dark figure outside the frosted glass. 

 

Harge shook his head, "He thinks it is best we not but he also couldn't see why not. 'Specially since if she's goin' to be off the machine, it means she's stable. We could have some nurses over… And there's you." 

 

"Yes," she said, "And there is me." 

 

There was quiet for a minute or so as the machines whirred on. "So… Should we bring her home?" 

 

"Is that what you will want, Carol?" Harge pressed on. He looked at Carol, at me, then back at Carol again. His forehead was pickled with creases and his eyebrows were high, in the middle of his forehead. 

 

When Carol didn't reply, Harge said, "I'll send Florence over to your house. To get the rooms ready." I knew by that he also meant that Florence would get a room ready for him. But I also knew that Rindy would be sleeping in Carol's bed the minute she was transported home. Because it was these simple things– these small moments– that mothers wanted. 

 

"That'll be very thoughtful, Harge." The conversation ended like that. 

 

But as Carol likes to say, bad things always happen– too big, too fast, too difficult to stop– While we were all so busy with the arrangements, Rindy almost slipped right by us. 

 

###

 

The procedure was one of the first of its kind on a child, as I would later find out in the sunday paper. Journalists from every major newspaper had flocked and set up camp along the outsides of the hospital as they were not allowed in. But oh, they were always there, always the first to know everything. 

 

I was watching them by the window on the sixth floor. There was a wave of murmur spreading across the sea of hungry vultures as they caught a junior doctor mid-bite in his sausage bun. A journalist caught me staring at them from the window and a flash blinded me.

 

"Therese, get away from the window. Those good for nothing vultures… Don't entertain them anymore," Carol called out to me.

 

I nodded. "They caught Dr. Reynolds," I chuckled as I walked back towards her.

 

"Well then..." She sighed, looking up from her newspaper, "All the best to that fella." 

 

Later in the afternoon, I was standing by Carol, waiting for the doctor's countdown. The tube was so large I felt my squeamish mind send signals to stomach which started to act up again. The vomit was piling up against my throat, I was extremely sure another sight of mucus would send Carol and I over the edge.

 

Rindy on the other hand looked peaceful. Her lips were a cherry red from the friction they were putting on her but she breathed just fine after, apart from the split lip.

 

We were all so afraid to touch her that night, although in the end, because she looked so lonely on the bed, I inched onto the mattress, lying on my side right next to her. I held the book, Alice in Wonderland above her face, hoping she might peek an eye open.

 

Carol refused to come any closer than she already was in the corner of the room.

 

Harge came by a few times afterwards only to find Carol and I in the same position. The nurses came in a joked that we would develop pressure sores if we stilled there for too long. Even they have come to move Rindy to different positions every two hours. 

 

The doctors came by their rounds and I suspected there were even a few that weren't from the "team" but they always came around to stick their noses in our air when Harge was at work; and Carol couldn't care less. 

 

A week later, the head doctor that thought very highly of himself came by and announced that Rindy looked better than her misleading grayish skin, but I wasn't so sure because two days later, her breathing remained too shallow for Carol to bring her home. 

 

In fact, it was I who noticed the  _ downfall _ first.

 

Rindy was between my arms. My heart wrung and it wrung, again and again for the state that Rindy was in. 

 

I had been adjusting Rindy's nasal cannula when I first caught the bluish discoloration on her lips. It was called cyanosis, or whatever fancy medical term the doctors liked to use to scare parents so I had tiptoed out of the room, afraid to wake Carol who barely got a wink of sleep last night. 

 

The head doctor entered, a man that had a stark resemblance to Hargess.

 

"When did the cyanosis begin?" He asked in his loud booming voice and I almost sent a slap across his face if it were not that Carol had woken up.

 

She stood up and came closer, eyes still not quite open. "Is there any update, Dr. Gordon?" 

 

"Um," I began nervously, "I noticed it just a few minutes ago. I wasn't sure how long–" The doctor stopped me mid sentence, putting his stethoscope to Rindy's chest. There was a shallow rise and fall of her chest.

 

"It sounds like wheezing. We need to put her back on oxygen," The doctor said and decided all at once. The nurses flurried around, metal pieces clunking onto each other. Before long, Rindy was hooked up onto a small mask. I didn't know they made masks these small, because who would think a child could get this sick? 

 

It got worse faster than I would've imagined. First, the oxygen rate had to go up. It was 26%, then it was 34%. Then… 80%. Before long, the tube had to be reinserted into Rindy's airway to keep her right lung from collapsing.

 

In the aftermath, the hospital began to swell like a throat, all desperate cries for the next big story of the sunday paper. 

 

It made me sick, all these people who profited off Carol's grief. Because on the first page of every newspaper that Sunday was Carol's misery smeared.  _ The Miracle Child falls! _ Followed by a photo of Harge, Abby or I shielding our faces as we took turns to run errands outside of the hospital. 

 

It was all very embarrassing. 

 

I saw her crumbling away, hope chiseling away from her mighty cliff. The thing about having hope, and having that taken away is that when renewed hope comes, it comes with a multitude of dangers. The purity of simplicity had been robbed from Carol. Her mind no longer thought straight. She saw everything now. 

 

It must’ve been about two weeks later that Carol still remained adamant about refusing another chance.

 

It remained like that, so very still, as news coverage slowly died down, until one day: Harge appeared at the hospital, drunk beyond his wits. When Carol went outside, I cautiously put my hand against the girl's forehead and I brushed her silky hair under my thumb. "My miracle," I whispered to her but watched with my hands balled up in fists as Harge approached Carol outside. 

 

"Harge, please," Carol was on the verge of tears.

 

"Carol… If we could..." he was smothering her with a kiss against her pale neck and his hands were travelling everywhere I knew they shouldn't be.

 

"Harge, please, stop. Not tonight," Carol whispered harshly as she tried to push him off, "Tomorrow… Tomorrow we can do this again–" Her breathed hitched as his hands reached under her skirt, hitching it up as he caressed her knees. "Harge..." She cried out again. She pushed him off and into the car door that was open. As she waved away the car goodbye, tears were in her eyes. 

 

She was trembling when she reemerged through the door. 

 

As I laid next to Rindy in the hard cold hospital bed, I hoped she could feel my warmth against her clammy skin. I pulled her against me tightly. When I heard Carol trying to muffle a cry, I swept Rindy's hair away from her face and cupped my palm over Rindy's ear so that she would not hear her mother's cracking breaths. 

 

Abby arrived moments later and she pulled Carol out of the room and into the hallway. Their hands were gesturing wildly and if I didn't know better, it looked like they were quarrelling about something, yet Abby's face only registered worry. 

 

"I'll drive you both home," Abby offered, holding the door open for me with one arm, while the other grasped tightly onto Carol's elbow. I crawled out of Rindy's bed carefully, sure to not make any sound. "Hold her," Abby mouthed and I grabbed onto Carol's other side as we walked her down the hallway of shame, towards the elevator that brought us to the main lobby.

 

Everyone stared. The doctors, the nurses, the other family members waiting around for their own tragedies. And I was sure they were all thinking the same thing about Carol. They wondered if when the same situation arose in their own families, if they would take it as well as Carol did; whose impeccable makeup was still the talk of town, whose clothes were still fresh and laundered. The unscreaming, incredibly strong Carol.

 

But I knew Carol was far from that. For it was Abby that redid her makeup after the night of horrors, and it was me who had run from hospital to laundry to Carol's place and back again everyday with fresh clothes. For it was Harge who bought that new scent that now covered the stench of vomit on Carol. Carol's sister with the new curler, Hargess' mother with the nail polish and the new stick of lip stain when Carol had so angrily thrown her old one at the mirror. The chauffeur who did not complain about the late night calls to fetch Abby or I, home for an errand. The tight lipped  _ au pairs _ who refused to talk to any hungry journalists waiting outside their houses. 

 

You see, it took a village to make Carol look Carol. 

 

When we finally reached Carol's home, she invited me to sit for a while. Harge wasn't going to be here tonight, neither was

 

"What would you like, Therese?" she called from the kitchen, "A beer? Gin? Wine? I've got an absurd amount of liquids in my house. Keeps me on my tiptoes." 

 

I felt awfully sad that Carol had to drink to forget. To drink to forget. "No, um..." I bit onto my lip, "Would you happen to have milk? I don't think I should be drinking this late at night." 

 

" _ Milk _ , right," she popped her head out of the kitchen, then back in. There was a whole bunch of clattering and then an exasperated voice echoing into the icebox, "Goat's milk okay with you? Because if you want others I'm afraid we might be all out of it." 

 

"It's fine, if you don't have any. Beer. Beer is okay." 

 

"I said, is Goat's milk okay? Why do you never hear me?" 

 

"I worry for your sanity, Carol," I whispered. 

 

"My sanity?" she coughed, "My  _ sanity? _ Why do you worry? What makes you worry for me? Is it the eccentricity? Or is it my curtness." 

 

I shook my head low, but still met her eyes despite my chin to neck, "None. I worry for Rindy, and what you've become. I worry for Harge and what he's become." 

 

"Then... I must say; You're too young to worry as much as you do. Lighten up." I looked at her, unblinking. Then, she did something that caught me completely off tangent. 

 

She forced herself on my lips, so desperate was her tongue against my mouth that I parted, allowing it to engage mine in a sacred dance of sorts. It was quite quiet, all of a sudden. And I could only hear Carol's pants and my own bated breath. I felt her tears fall onto my cheeks as she refused to pull apart from my face. Her hands wandered. 

 

"This is wrong," I told Carol after I pulled away. 

 

"No. There is nothing wrong in this." Carol was crying now. She was adamant that this was not wrong but I saw all kinds of unjust in what we were going to do– what we were about to do. With Rindy the way she was in, could it be fair at all? 

 

"I can't–" 

 

"What's there to  _ can  _ or  _ cannot _ ?" 

 

"You're like my mother," I said, backing away from her, all of a sudden, she became the ghost in my walls. 

 

"This is extremely different. What your mother did, leaving you at the orphanage, that was unjust. All the wrongs to be righted. I'm not leaving Rindy–" Carol cried.

 

"But you are! She would've wanted you to try." 

 

"No– Therese, no. You don't get to compare your mother and I," I could barely see her through my clouded vision but her fists were balled up and her jaw was shut so tight I could see the individual muscles on her face growl at me.

 

I closed my eyes as exhaled shakily, "Then _ fucking _ fight, Carol."

 

"Therese, you will not– You will not speak to me like that," Carol warned as she picked her gloves up from the dresser. 

 

"My mother never fought for me," I whispered, looking at her retreating figure. 

 

"Therese–" her voice caught like a leaf in the wind. She didn't turn around anymore than thirty degrees but she threw her purse to a side in the room. The desperation, and the fruitlessness of the action gave me a pain in the chest. "This is different." 

 

"How is it any different? She was my mother. You, hers," I hiccupped softly and hoped Carol saw through all the words I could not say. 

 

I ran to where Carol was and spun her around, grabbing her by the back of her neck as I kissed her harshly on the lips. "And I love you," I breathed between heavy kisses, "Please let me love you." 

 

It couldn't be long enough, the way we stood so close to each other, our breath on each other's face. Carol pushed me into the wall behind and continued her feast on my lips. It was a hurting sort of kiss. I had never kissed anyone like that. Yet, as we sank deeper, as our souls became intertwined, it became a different kind of kiss altogether. A different passion fueled us. 

 

To Carol, it was almost like setting her free.

 

I always liked to think Carol saved Rindy in the end. Because it was with the utterance of Carol's following words, that God willed them sincere. That these sort of miracles did happen. Because, in the end, Rindy would be coming home. 

 

_ 01.25.1954 I want to say that nothing would've changed– that my mother would've given me away in another lifetime, just as Carol would've let you go. But I think it is how we choose to salvage our mistakes that make each of our lives a form of different suffering. Maybe my mother wouldn't have–I don't know what my mother would've done– but I made very sure that Carol saved you in this one. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate my readers. Without you guys, I wouldn't be able to write any of these!  
> Ps. Your lovely comments keep me going<3


	10. The Butterfly Effect

_ There's this thing called The Butterfly Effect. It's characterized as an event, a particularly small event that becomes key in drastic change later on in the linear timeline. I am not sure why they call it the butterfly effect because to my knowledge, those little critters only lived for an average of nine months, yet by the words of them, the aftermath of a butterfly effect can last lifetimes.  _

 

Carol caught me stealing glances at her and hit me on the elbow as we walked briskly along Fifth Avenue. Abby and one of the nurses were with Rindy so we had a rare day to ourselves since Rindy had come home. 

 

"What is it?" Carol groaned when she caught another one of my nervous glances. It was the one where, according to Carol, I would purse my lips tightly while blinking as though I was a goldfish. I told her that was the wrong descriptor because goldfishes didn’t blink. She told me to just “get” her point. 

 

"I want to do something," I told Carol as we rounded into a boutique. 

 

"What is it?" she asked, smiling wryly at me. Since that night, our relationship had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time, it never failed to take me by surprise when we would just look at each other. Yet to the rest of the world, it was a minuscule change, a shift in paradigm that only the both of us knew. 

 

It surprised me even more than the fact that Carol was on strict orders from Harge to get me some new clothes.

 

"I want to mail this thing–  _ the book _ ," I whispered to her as though it was illegal. Carol was barely listening. She was barking around the retail girl to show us their clothes and the seamstress was around me like she was a vulture; Measuring my trunk, plucking my clothes, it was as though I was a tree. 

 

"Carol, are you even listening?" I whined.

 

She snapped her head around and looked at me, "Yes. Of course. I'm always listening. You wanted to mail a thing.  _ The book _ –" Pause. "What's the matter with it?" 

 

"Closure," I shrugged.

 

"Closure– Alright, Angel." she huffed playfully, looking at me endearingly. It reminded me of what she called me just weeks ago. When I see her now, it's as though time collapses in on itself. Because I was so sure, if this ended right now, it would be like it didn't end at all. Because I would run forever, and my heart would search forever, and I knew right now, that the light at the end of the path would forever lead right back to Carol.

 

Because Carol felt absolute. 

 

As she continued to march the tailor around me, I thought back on what happened on that exact day it all became reality. It wasn't right after that night– No. Not right after the kiss. We hadn't even had any time to talk since Rindy had to come home and we had to get everything ready and prepared. But one day… As a couple of weeks had passed since Rindy had come home and things were finally, more or less, getting to be normal around the house… 

 

My life had been running like clockwork for those past weeks. Every day after school ended, I would make my way to Carol's brownstone, where she greeted me by the doorstep. I would have a very late lunch with Carol that usually consisted of a baked bread and some casserole. When she felt like it, Abby made herself present.

 

Then, I would proceed to Rindy's room to read her a book I had picked out from the "The Ultimate List of Appropriate Books for Rindy Aird," that Abby had compiled for me, subtly mocking my poor choices in books for children.

 

It was on that fateful day on that particular week, the hours past afternoon that was just a little different than others. It was Carol's first time coping with Rindy without Harge as he was out of state for a business trip… 

 

"Are you sure you don't need me to stay?" Abby fussed with a hint of her lisp as she was leaving. 

 

"Don't be daft, Abby. I have Therese." I smiled as I watched Carol roll her eyes, swatting at Abby's outstretched hands. Watching from the bay window, I saw Carol and Abby engage in a playful fight, and I smiled at the genuinity of their relationship. 

 

Carol came back in with an even brighter smile than when she had left and I watched as Abby's car rolled off into the horizon. "What's Abby doing this weekend?" 

 

"What she does best," Carol chuckled.

 

"Trapping bugs?" I asked.

 

"No. That's her second best skill. She's doing nothing this weekend," Carol deadpanned me and I struggled to hold my laughter in. We just stared and stared at each other, willing the other to break first. Alas, it was I whose stifled laughter came rushing through like a choke. 

 

The room fell into a comfortable silence, as it always has when Carol and I were alone. I watched the sunlight fall on her blonde locks and I had an urge to reach out and stroke them. I bit my lip, wondering what Carol was thinking about now as she stared at the coffee table. Her feet were up on the sofa and my gaze swept against her relaxed figure before my eyes traveled downwards onto my own legs, the sensible wool tights I wore in place of where silk ones were on Carol's. 

 

I wondered how two people of such different worlds could meet and I suddenly became afraid; Were we capable of the same feelings? What did love mean to her? 

 

I struggled to find my words but when I did, they were literal and forward. I guess, this was the way Carol would've liked it. "Is it a good time to talk now, Carol?" I asked very slowly, my hands winding into each other like tree branches. "What does this mean now?" Pause. "Us," I said louder, causing Carol to snap her gaze at me, "This. All of it." 

 

Her face lacked mobility, no hint of a frown or a smile. Her voice was rusty when she spoke, "Therese, I–" she hesitated and I watched as my heart fell a thousand feet. 

 

"I understand if it was not– if it was the moment you wanted, but I–"

 

Carol held her hand up to stop me from going further, "No. Listen to me. I– wanted– I want this. I want all of it. Come'ere," she gestured to the seat on the sofa right next to her, "Come sit here. Please." 

 

Like an eager but apprehensive school student, I approached her with great caution. Her lower lip was tackled by her teeth, an attempt to hide her growing smile. "What's so funny?" I asked when I sit next to her.

 

"No– It's just the way–," she started, "It's just… I've always known you were special." 

 

"Where's all this coming from?" I asked gently, looking at her. Her hand settled on my shoulders as she pulled me closer. 

 

"Must come from having you in my arms," Carol whispered into my ear. She bit on it just very gently, causing my neck to arch into hers. Her mouth caught mine and our fiery breaths circled above us. "Is this what you meant you wanted?" Carol asked huskily.

 

"Mmm," was what I could manage.

 

Her skilled tongue twirled mine, engaging it in a sort of sacred dance. My kisses with Richard had been so mechanical, like a ballroom dancer, one, two, three, one, two, three. With Carol, this felt entirely new, no longer relying on linear elements to guide us. Our kiss was freeing and contemporary, different and new each time. 

 

I breathed her in as we parted. She asked, "And why does confirmation matter now and not weeks ago?" 

 

"We barely had time," I said, sweeping my fringe from my eyes. "And..." 

 

"And?"

 

“And I stumbled upon a book.”

 

"And which one might that be?" she seemed to feign confusion, looking away from me. Her eyes were on the lighter on the oak bedside table but her mind was on the book. 

 

"Nevermind–" I started to regret even bringing it up. There was so much to explain. 

 

It was minute, but Carol’s face seemed to fall slightly. Under a growing frown, she said, "Go on; I think I know which one you're talking about. But what's that got to do with all this?”

 

"I don’t know how it is– but this book… I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things, Carol."

 

Carol's face twitched with uncertainty. It wasn't the first time but Carol seemed lost again, in a memory. "Well, that’s just fine, Therese. We all don’t know a lot of things." Her chest heaved lightly, "What is so important about this book? Why does it matter now? Why now?"

 

"I don't think you'll ever understand," I sighed.

 

"Try me," Carol challenged. 

 

I smiled pathetically at her before turning my gaze to a spot in the room away from her. "For a long time after Pa died, I was scared of the night. I used to think that the dark sky swallowed Pa whole and he never returned because of that. And the fear got worse after I was sent to Sister Alicia. When I first snuck down, I was so afraid I thought Sister Alicia might find me with urine dribbling down my pants. Having the courage– acting upon it– made me realize so wholly about other fears. Fears of the adults. Fears that plagued her voice. And for the first time, I– It felt as though I wasn't suffering alone." 

 

Carol gripped my hand tighter. I spoke again, "I was invisible for a very long time but with her, those few moments with her felt like a lifetime of recognition. Had I known– Had I known it would be you I'd end up with, maybe I would've understood more of my feelings. The feelings I harbored for too long." 

 

"That's not– Therese..." 

 

My eyes sparkled as I looked at her again. "I guess it is just as Psammead said in the book, 'Magic fades, and then you forget.'"

 

Carol's words were right at the tip of her mouth but she swallowed deeply instead. She looked torn but in my own oversight, I hadn't noticed that soon enough and I let the beat of silence pass before I began again, this time softer, "And Richard asked for me, again, to go to France with him this Spring. He is adamant about it." 

 

"So that’s what this is about." There was relief in her voice. Except it wasn't really about France. There was something far deeper than that, about leaving behind things we didn't want, or maybe in this case, setting things free. 

 

"And I said no," I whispered.

 

"Even before you came to ask me this? What if I didn't want this?" 

 

I sighed, "I wasn't thinking… I just…" 

 

"You were just going to live with it? Not going to France; Seeing, smelling, feeling the beautiful Lavender that's blooming right about the time you were supposed going?" 

 

"Yes– I was going to live with it but I–" I stuttered but was shut by Carol's finger scraping against my lips.

 

"Well, well. It's all too late now, Therese. Now you have to live with this," Carol whispered sultrily into my ear, trapping the tip of my earlobe between her teeth.

 

Carol slid us across the wall and towards the bay window, engulfing us in darkness as she pulled the curtain shut. She tugged at my woollen sweater, pulling it above me head as I felt small little goose pimples begin to form where her skin touched my nakedness.

 

"Are you- you sure there's no one home?" I murmured cautiously into her ear as we stumbled up the stairs and onto the second level. "Mmhm," she hummed, backing me into a room that resembled hers.

 

"Richard is going to hate me," I pulled away.

 

She seemed undeterred as her fingers lingered around my bra, finally reaching behind to unclasp it. "What's there to hate when he never had you in the first place?" Carol pecked me on the lips again, sealing the rest of my words. 

 

"I love you," she whispered. Her touch left trails of blazing fires. Carol was my bright sun. She lit up my whole world. 

 

I moaned as she pushed me almost painfully hard against the bed frame, my hands tangling into her lemon colored hair, this was the first time I had touched her like that. "Show me," I whispered, catching Carol's eye as she leaned deeper into me. 

 

We paused mid-action, mid-sentence. Her hand reached up to stroke my sharp face, "What a strange girl you are," she traced her hand across my jawline, "My Angel, flung out of space." 

 

###

 

_ [9 months later] _

 

"Oh, don't hate me," I said into the receiver as my fingers combed through my hair. It was slightly longer than I would usually like it but time seemed to be less of an essence and more of a want these days. 

 

"Of course not, you just reject the France trip first, and then there was the Germany trip. Now, not even Canada. Next time, you'll be refusing to travel out of state with me," Richard's upset was quite evident on my end of the phone.

 

I bit on my lip to suppress a smile. "Oh, Richard, don't be selfish. You know about Rindy. You know how she is these days. I promise you alright? When Rindy becomes better, I'll go on a trip with you." 

 

He gave another deflating sigh. "Alright, Terry. If that's what you want." 

 

"It is." 

 

"Righty, then. I'll see you 'round." 

 

"You're a good sport, Richard." 

 

"I'd be thankful," he gave a small chuckle, "Later!" 

 

"Later." 

 

As I rode towards school, I observed that fall was already starting to chase away the hot summer. Orange foliage was spreading like a virus across the country. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing I saw the morning of the first Monday of September in 1954. 

 

I made it to school only to have Carol come pick me up.

 

"Jersey?" The both of us asked each other as I got into her car. 

 

We burst into laughter. "It must be fate," Carol said. Carol looked much healthier than she did months ago, her back slipping against the hospital walls. She looked reinvigorated in a new red suit and bold sunglasses.

 

"What? This?" I laughed.

 

"Yes, this. Harge has Rindy and you so happen to be  _ sick _ ," she explained. Her gloved hand adjusted the rearview mirror for a better look at the horrendous New York traffic. "It's been ages since I've seen you." 

 

"What?" I chuckled again, "Carol, you saw me yesterday." 

 

"Darling, that's long enough. Talking about the day off, you rarely call in sick. Is anything the matter?" 

 

"Nothing. Just a– Just wanted a day off," I quickly tried to change the subject. The last time I had felt this way about something was the day Rindy had to be reintubated. I could tell that that wasn't the most pleasant of memories for Carol.

 

"That's good. I love you, Therese, but you're like a slave to the school," she joked.

 

The way  _ I love you _ rolled right off her tongue made me feel exceptionally fortunate. The music broods lightly from the radio and I smiled to myself, thinking about how Carol and I met on such exceptional circumstances. 

 

"You know, Therese," Carol said while keeping her eyes on the road, "I've never really noticed before but your eyes are a shade of green I've never seen before. A mix of your parents, perhaps?" 

 

"No," I smiled back, shaking my head as I looked down on my lap, "They're my mother's." 

 

"Exactly?" She seemed stunned.

 

"Yes," I looked back at her. We had stopped at a junction now and Carol turned to gaze at me. Our eyes met and I saw the smooth blue through the gray in her eyes. Her smile felt barren against her blue-gray orbs. They were the only thing that seemed to exist when they sparkled. 

 

But today, her eyelids batted and sadness flooded in. "Rindy's too. She's got my eyes," Carol whispered, her eyes trained straight ahead now. I realised I've never seen Rindy's eyes. "I miss her," she mumbled. And I could feel her missing. The way she missed how Rindy smelt in her arms. Her eyes clenched as she remininsed the enchanting colors of flowers Rindy would have picked from their backyard to give to her on mother's day. 

 

Pain prodded at Carol. Ebbed her. Carol shook a little and I put my hand on her hand to steady her but grief overcame her like an earthquake. The lights turned green and Carol tapped my hand lightly with the other, moving it away. She pulled the crank and we were off again.

 

By the time we pulled into Abby's estate, the mood had severely darkened. The concentric circles of pain just kept widening. Carol kicked a plant over and fished the spare key from the soil. "Come on," she seemed unsurprised. 

 

We found ourselves walking through all the unkempt newspapers that were left lying around. Abby had only been in D.C. for barely a week; this was a mess of months. Months that Carol and I had not been here. "Jesus, Abigail," I heard Carol swear under her breath.

 

Carol reached her hand out behind here where I was and I took it in mine as we skipped over to a meandering clear space that had carved out over the times Abby was here. Carol put her hand up to her face as we emerged through the back door, the sun right in our faces. Usually, we stopped here, right by the deck of the house, admiring the stretches of plains before us.

 

Yet, something felt different today. Carol, for the first time in months, suddenly felt worlds away. I could no longer see her thoughts, dangerous as they might be.

 

"Carol?" I fought to keep up with her large strides. "What's wrong?" 

 

"It's hopeless," Carol whispered, stopping in the middle of the field. She didn't mean to sound cruel, or bitter but it all just came out like that. Sometimes, and especially with these things, we lose any and all semblance of control in us. Her face cracked under the weight of the sadness. "It's done," Carol said, louder this time.

 

"Carol, please don't say that," I whispered under my breath. 

 

"You don't understand anything, Therese," she flashed, turning around abruptly, "You are too young. Impossibly young to know all this. Don't you see?" 

 

Even after months of being together, I still felt her looming presence. Most times, that was enough to shut me up; but not today. Fearlessly, I continued, "Nothing is impossible. You showed me a world under the sun." 

 

"What's that?" Carol snapped.

 

I wanted to just scream at her about how much she meant to me and it pained me that she could not see that. But I stopped to dwell and my face became wet with emotions, suddenly too weak to hold them all in. Carol looked sorry as she came to hug me, my big fat tears rolling down onto my cracked lips. I didn't deserve her. This was about Rindy and Carol and her love for her daughter but somehow I had made it all about anything but that. 

 

As I cried, I remembered the first days after my mother dropped me off at the orphanage. Food tasted like cardboard for a good year after that. My mouth was drier than the sahara desert and no amount of tears could make me swallow the food in my mouth. I had missed my mother so terribly much and how I wished my mother would have felt the same and come around. 

 

Carol was my sun but she was also Rindy's universe. 

 

I felt Carol's shoulders quake as we hugged. Her sobbed wrecked me and the deep loneliness I felt before meeting Carol came rushing me all of a sudden. Even in her vulnerability, Carol's sobs were stifled– as though she was afraid. And soon, I knew, I knew soon her shutters would come clanking down and my Carol would be back behind her mask. Carol had an innate ability to shut memories off just like that. She and I were so different in that way. I thought– 

 

The shrill of the telephone from the house tore us apart.

 

I scrubbed my tears away as Carol struggled to compose herself. I rushed towards the shrilling and picked up. The phone was very broken as beeps whizzed through. Before I could introduce, a man's voice, urgent and grave crackled through the line, "Hello, A–bby? Is C–a–arol with you?" 

 

"Hold on Mr. Aird, I'll pass it to–" I said.

 

The phone spluttered. "The-Rese? The con–n–nection h–ere is b–ad. Don't– bother. Tell h–er to come back– h–ome im–m–diately." Pause. Crackle. Muffle. Pause. "Ri–ndy's awake." 

 

I looked at Carol, eyes all wide and pained. 

 

We flew. 

 

By the time we got there, Rindy was seated up in her bed. The doctor was listening to the clarity of her lungs and Rindy choked a little, then there was a whine that grew in volume as seconds ticked by. Another choke before a spluttering cough and Carol darted by me to the side of her daughter's bed. 

 

I could see it all in her eyes, there was fear, yet there was hope in her eyes. Overwhelmed by a sea of emotions, my hands immediately lost our bags that were in them and I ran to where Carol was too, standing over her. 

 

Carol sat Rindy up but she was still coughing incredulously. A numbness overtook my every nerve and I felt a wave of vomit rush through me. This couldn't be. 

 

What I did was look. Stare, gawk, leer and gape. And now that I think back of it, I didn't understand immediately– the consequences of Rindy's awakening. 

 

I took a deep breath of air just as Rindy peeked her eyes open.

 

"Mommy?" she called out, reaching for Carol. 

 

All my words left me in one sweeping motion as I stared, mouth agape. Everything became slow, as though I was trapped underwater and I was drowning behind a glass and nobody could help me. Then, as Carol swept her daughter into her arms, as Carol's myriad of emotions burst open, this time with an urgency I had never seen before, I saw a small glimmer of blue beneath the eyelids of her daughter. The child opened her eyes, greeting me with a soft, almost recognizing, yet weary expression– 

 

And I was stunned when I saw that Rindy's eyes were an even more brilliant blue than her mother's. 

 

_ 10.28.1955 'It's just sad, the way the past holds on to you'. I used to think that that would be the way I would talk about Carol. She was so bound by her past, two heavy weights tied onto both her feet. Rindy and Harge were the past. Abby was the present. It scared me that I was suggesting that I was the future. But it didn't matter what I thought now because– You see, I used to think that falling in love with Carol was the start of our butterfly effect when in fact, it wasn't. It was the outcome of an even larger event that came before it. As much as I wanted to deny it, I found out today that our butterfly effect started with a tragedy– Rindy's accident. And after this, I can never look at Carol the same again. Because when I look at Carol now, all I can say is that, "It's just sad, the way Fate binds us to our paths." Forgive me, Carol– For there is no use fighting it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! Thanks so much for reading :)


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